


Choices Seal our Fate

by Enmuse (Scifiroots)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angels, Canon-Typical Violence, Crowley Has a Heart, Demons, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Families of Choice, Family, Friendship, Gen, Guilt, Heaven, Horsemen, Hurt/Comfort, Jo Lives, Protective Jo Harvelle, Sam-Centric, Sammy Big Bang, Temporary Character Death, Temporary Character Death - Winchesters, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2018-10-02 20:37:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 81,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10226831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scifiroots/pseuds/Enmuse
Summary: Dean and Sam Winchester split ways in the wake of Lucifer's rising. When his last conversation with Dean leaves Sam convinced there's no hope of reconciliation, Sam sets out to find his redemption in stopping Lucifer on his own.Little did he know that he would find companionship with an old friend, Jo Harvelle, and the King of the Crossroads during his pursuit. (SammyBigBang 2017 fic)Recent edits July 2018





	1. would you turn your back on me?

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE thank you to MakingSafe, who willingly looked over and offered editing suggestions for this monster. I also was paired with the WONDERFUL artist Kuwlshadow, who made two lovely pieces. (Art is embedded in the story, plus on [livejournal](http://kuwlshadow.livejournal.com/64237.html) and [tumblr](http://kuwlshadow.tumblr.com/post/158411157393/title-choices-seal-our-fate-author-enmuse)
> 
>  _Additional warnings:_ Please note that there is suicidal ideation and off-screen suicide in regards to Sam trying to avoid Lucifer. Violence and mature topics are on-par with the show's level, only the amount of swearing wouldn't be allowed.
> 
> All titles come from various songs or Richard Siken poems. (If you have Spotify, the playlist can be [found here](https://open.spotify.com/user/1245641710/playlist/79c6hQtrM48CdgeAHeZGjf))
> 
> This story is based off of canon and characterization from the first five seasons of Supernatural. While I'm aware of what comes later, I'm still of the mindset that post-S5 is like... an extended universe. Anyway, bear that in mind as my Crowley is based on canon and fanon of the time many years ago — including his origins that are alluded to in this piece.
> 
> Since this is a S5 divergence/alt-take, there are a lot of canon events mentioned and included in the narrative. I did my best to avoid rehashing things in whole, but there are key moments that remain near the same, including some dialogue. There are also many canon events that are not addressed. You can assume that some of them take place on the Team Dean & Co. side of things. ("Abandon All Hope" absolutely _does not_ take place.)
> 
> While there are no actualized pairings in this story, there is a potential for some sort of Sam-Jo-Crowley thing. I feel like some of the tension's there, but there are a lot of other things for them to focus on. Romance is pretty much the last thing on anyone's mind.

[ ](http://kuwlshadow.tumblr.com/post/158411157393/title-choices-seal-our-fate-author-enmuse)

He knows what he is, now.

He had known it years ago, then apparently forgot. Sometime during the months he'd been without Dean, Sam lost sight of one very simple fact: he is a freak, a new breed of monster.

Dean had been right, back in that hotel suite where Sam had been so goddamn _stupid_ and turned away. Sam is a monster, something that should be hunted. He has no right to call himself a hunter. The part of him that had argued with Dean, trying to make his brother _see_ that the method was justified, is quickly growing smaller and meeker. 

Good intentions and roads to Hell, as they say — all too true in very literal ways. A small, broken part of Sam wants to laugh. He thinks of his father and his brother, making deals with demons and getting dragged to Hell. Sam made no deal; he walked right up to the door and threw it open. Ignorance is no excuse.

Sam's intentions are moot; Dean made that clear in their last conversation. Sam thought his brother would put up a fight to stick together. After all, it was Dean who didn't want to let Sam out of his sight in Colorado. He doesn't want to think about why Dean changed his mind.

Sam misses Dean's faith in him. He misses the light of happiness and trust that he used to be able to see. Now those memories are overshadowed by the haunted eyes of a tortured soul; the gaze of fear and disgust at what Sam became with the consumption of demon blood; and the constant wary gaze. That's part of why Sam suggested splitting up. He isn't sure he could continue to face the overwhelming disappointment and distrust cast his way.

He doesn't want to bother Dean. He doesn't want to make this call and end up still stuck where he is now. He doesn't want to risk Dean's rejection.

Heaving a sigh, Sam takes his phone from the table and hits send on the loaded number. He waits a moment longer to lift the phone to his ear. The phone rings. 

One. Two. Three.

Four.

Sam closes his eyes, certain that Dean is going to ignore the call. He isn't sure he can bear to leave a message with what he has to say — if Dean would even listen to it. Sam's pulling the phone away from his ear when his brother's voice comes from the tiny speaker.

"Yeah?"

Sam swallows hard and clutches the phone against his cheek. "Hey, Dean," he says quietly, hoping the lower volume will hide any unsteadiness in his voice.

Dean sighs. "What is it, Sam? We agreed to split."

"No. Yeah. I know." Sam clears his throat before telling Dean about the hunters, how there are people who know about his releasing the Devil. He explains that he knows he can't just walk away even though he wants to. Dean only makes a noncommittal noise when Sam pauses, as if to acknowledge he's listening but has nothing to say on the matter. Sam's heart sinks.

"Th-there's something..." Sam licks his lips nervously and stares down at the ugly stained carpet beneath his feet. "Something else you should know."

"I don't have a lot of time. Spit it out." Dean sounds impatient.

Sam fumbles through the confession of Lucifer's dream-walking. He shares the revelation that Sam is also a true vessel. He doesn't share the other things: how Lucifer first appeared as Jess; that Sam said he would kill himself before consenting, but that Lucifer will bring him back; how Lucifer looked like he truly sympathized with Sam.

_It always had to be you._

Dean is quiet after Sam confesses. "So, you're his vessel. Lucifer's wearing you to prom?"

Sam grimaces, remembering all too well how horrifying it had been having Meg possess his body. How much worse would it be to house the Devil? He shudders as he answers Dean's question.

His brother huffs something that may be a laugh. "Just when you thought you were out, they pull you back in, huh, Sammy?"

It's true, and Sam knows it could very well always be like this. There is no escaping the life of a hunter. There's even less of a chance when he is... this. Still, Dean's reaction is lacking. "So that's it? That's your response?"

"What are you looking for?" Dean asks. He sounds tired, and Sam doubts it's just because of the early morning call.

Sam leans forward to rest his forehead against his hand. "I don't know. A little panic? Maybe...?" He feels at a loss.

"I guess I'm a little numb to earth-shattering revelations at this point," Dean says, tone dry.

Sam tries to swallow down the sense of hopelessness rising in him at Dean's lack of a real response. Sam needs his brother. He needs to hear that old bravado and long-shot plan of action. "What are we going to do about it?" he asks, desperately hoping Dean will get the hint.

"What do you want to do about it?"

"I want back in, for a start," Sam says. He stares at his knees. Where does he go from here? He can tell Dean is about to protest, and he hurries to interrupt. "I mean it. I'm sick of being a puppet to these sons of bitches! We'll hunt him down, Dean."

"Oh, so we're back to revenge then, are we?" Dean sounds sarcastic and disgusted. "Yeah, 'cuz that worked out so well last time."

Sam shakes his head and insists, "Not revenge. _Redemption_." He has to do this. He has to set things right. He let the Devil out; he has to get rid of him. The Winchesters have done other seemingly impossible things, right?

"So, what? You're just gonna walk back in, and we're gonna be the dynamic duo again?"

Dean isn't going for it. Sam feels his heart threatening to break. He did this, broke what held them together. "Look, Dean, I can do this." He hates that his voice breaks a little at the end. "I'm going to prove it to you."

Dean sighs, long and regretful, emotion finally coming through. "Look, Sam. It doesn't matter, whatever we do. I mean, it turns out that you and me, we're the fire and the oil of Armageddon." He chuckles briefly, and it's a bitter sound. "You know, on that basis alone, we should just pick a hemisphere. Stay away from each other for good."

Sam barely manages to choke out, "Dean, it doesn't have to be like this. We can fight it."

"Yeah, you're right. We can. But not together." Dean's voice is firm, and Sam knows that his brother will be immovable on this point. "We're not stronger when we're together, Sam." Sam remembers years ago listening to their father make similar arguments. "I think we're weaker. Because whatever we have between us — love, family, whatever it is — they are _always_ gonna use it against us. You know that. Yeah, we're better off apart. We got a better chance of dodging Lucifer and Michael and the whole damn thing if we just go our own ways."

"Dean, don't do this," Sam begs.

"Bye, Sam."

"Dean!" Sam shouts as the silence follows his brother hanging up. He feels tears slipping down his cheek and lets them fall as he drops his phone and buries his face in his hands.

Maybe... maybe Sam is the one thinking of this wrong. Didn't Dad end up dead when they were all together? Maybe John and Dean are right, and in the end, as much as the two of them had always espoused family above all, being in close quarters is what will doom them. _Dad trades for Dean. Dean trades for me. I go off the rails trying to reach Dean._ It only leads to disaster again and again and again.

 _Same song, different verse,_ Sam thinks, then chuckles a little hysterically as he recalls Jess — no, Lucifer, the bastard wearing her body — saying that to him in his dream.

Sam shudders and turns his gaze to the phone laying on the floor. It's the phone with that horrible voice-mail. Dean has never repeated the words to Sam's face, but Sam has been able to hear the sentiment underlining their interactions since the Cage's opening. _Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning: I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam."_

Shutting his eyes as he takes a shuddering breath, Sam scrubs at the tear tracks on his cheeks. He can't just sit here and do nothing, but he has to accept that he and Dean are on their separate paths. Maybe Dean's right. Maybe this is better. Sam will have to convince himself of that, some day. He smiles bitterly to himself, not sure that he will ever accept it.

 

\- - -

 

By mid-morning, Sam has his meager belongings packed, including remains of the motel's complimentary soaps, shampoos, and some of the linens.

He stands at the scarred table with his bags over his shoulders and his phone cradled in his hands. The memory has been fully cleared, the phone set back to factory default. The power is still on as he stares down at it. He's tempted to make one last call, maybe to Dean, maybe to Bobby.

Eventually he pops the battery and sim card, pocketing both, and sets the phone on the table.

Sam turns to the door and heads out into the sunlight. He'll see how far he can get during the day with walking and hitchhiking. He'll have to start looking for an independent means of transportation, soon. It's time to accept he will be doing this alone.

 

\- - -

 

Jo stands on the porch overlooking Bobby's salvage yard. With Bobby currently wheelchair-bound, it doesn't seem like he's outside much these days.

She grimaces as she hears another bout of shouting from inside. Her mom and Bobby have gotten into it several times since their arrival that morning. Jo glances at her watch and notes with some disbelief that it's only been seven hours. Bobby's stubborn pride and Ellen's persistence in offering gruff displays of care continue to clash. Hopefully they'll get the main shouting matches out of the way quickly. 

"He'll have to get his head out of his ass," Ellen had said as she turned onto the driveway leading to Singer's Salvage. "We need him on this and moping around isn't going to do him any good."

Jo figures Bobby deserves some time to mope. However, she agrees with her mom that they don't exactly have the luxury of taking time to wallow in personal grievances. They need Bobby, and he has yet to get his head back in the game.

"Damn it, woman!" Bobby hollers loud enough for the words to carry clearly through the closed windows. Jo rolls her eyes as she hears the snappish tone of her mother's reply.

Maybe it's time to go inside and see if she can mediate between Grumpy and Sourpuss. If Rufus was here, it'd be a regular Grumpy Old Men club, plus one. Jo wonders if she'll turn out like them, sour and disillusioned, some day. It's not a cheerful thought.

Jo steps inside and lets the screen door slam into place as she enters the front hall.

"Joanna Beth, stop slamming doors!"

"If that's the only way to cut you guys off, what am I supposed to do?" Jo shouts back. She follows Ellen's voice toward the kitchen by way of the living room.

Bobby is settled in his wheelchair in the archway dividing the rooms with his hands braced on the wheels and a scowl contorting his features. Ellen stands in the kitchen with her hands on her hips. "Are you two done yet?" Jo asks when she sees them glaring at each other. "You're damn lucky there's a lack of neighbors, or you'd get the police called out here."

"Watch your tongue," Bobby grunts. "I ain't angry at you yet, don't push it."

"And you're angry at me, then? Fine, but get your head on straight and stop being a pigheaded ass." Ellen jerks her chin in the direction of the living room and says, "Go get to work and let me make you a damn sandwich."

Jo feels her jaw drop. She looks between the two incredulously. "You're arguing about a damned _sandwich?_ For chrissake, Bobby, let Mom feed you!"

"I can make my own meals! Did just fine before you two showed up uninvited," Bobby grumbles, tossing a belligerent look Ellen's way.

Jo raises her hands in the air and drops her head back in exasperation. "You're impossible! We just want to be clear on what the hell is going on, and you have to block us every step of the way? Get your ass out of the way, let Mom feed you, and maybe we can make some headway beyond stupid childish arguments!"

"Girl, watch who you're calling children."

Ellen waves off Bobby's protest. "Christ, Bobby, this is ridiculous. Would you please let me do something _nice_ for your sorry butt? Go show Jo your collection and maybe she can help you research whatever the hell you were working on earlier. Give me time to cool off before I decide to give into temptation and smack some sense into you."

Bobby growls something unintelligible. After glaring a bit longer at Ellen, he turns his chair with deliberate strokes and rolls through the living room towards the study. Jo hastily steps aside before he runs over her toes. She glances back at her mother and sees Ellen shake her head in exasperation.

Fine, Jo can keep the old grump company for a bit.

 

Jo isn't sure how Bobby came by all of his resources, but his collection is to be admired and envied. She knows from personal experience and from tales she used to hear at the Roadhouse that she should be thankful Bobby has such access. With his personal knowledge and experiences, plus access to a wide variety of resources, Bobby has salvaged many hunts and saved numerous lives. He's good about adding to his sources, too. As Jo flips through a few of the books at the top of the stacked piles around the study, she sees extra pieces of paper with notes and sections of books with scrawls in the margins. There are more than a couple thick notebooks sitting on Bobby's desk. She's rather impressed that he can still navigate around the cramped room.

"Don't go misplacing any of those," Bobby says, side-eying her suspiciously as she lifts a thin volume covered in a threadbare cloth cover.

"There's an order?" Jo asks skeptically as she glances at the stacks around her.

"Personalized organization system," Bobby returns, ignoring Jo's arched eyebrows. He wheels behind his desk and lays his cell phone on the desk. He fiddles with it a moment, frowning at the screen. "Damn it," he mutters.

Jo sets aside the book and searches for a place to sit. There's a bit of space on the seat of a chair as long as she doesn't lean back against the pile of books. She sits carefully and asks, "What's up?"

Bobby's persistent grumpy scowl changes to something that looks more worried. "Damn Winchesters being stubborn idjits. They ain't called in."

"You really do keep close tabs on them," Jo says with a faint smile. It's good to hear that someone's looking out for the duo so prone to trouble. Times like this, she's reminded of how lucky she is to have her mom.

"Ain't close enough." Bobby pokes at his phone again, frown deepening. "I got a bad feeling. Called Sam and he ain't called back. Omens he reported on didn't turn out good. He got into trouble with the hunters that went out to see to it."

"Did Dean alienate some new people?" Jo knows full well that the Winchesters don't always work well with others.

Bobby's expression blanks. "Demons took down Tim and Reggie's friend. Heard they got into it with Sam after, but I want to hear Sam's side of things."

Jo thinks she recognizes the names, and her memory provides an image of a scruffy blond. It takes her a moment to run through Bobby's words again and consider his shuttered expression. "There's something serious putting a wall between those two." 

Bobby shrugs stiffly. "Damn fools split. They both say it was a mutual decision. I'd like to smack their heads together and lock 'em in a room until they sort themselves out."

"What'd the boys do now?" Ellen asks as she walks in with a large plate of several sandwiches.

"Went their separate ways," Bobby says, tone giving away exactly what he thinks of that decision.

"They're off on their own?" Ellen's voice is tight, and Jo recognizes her mother's concerned tone. "I knew something was off. Damn it all. Close-mouthed stubborn bastards. Now ain't the time to run around playing at hero solo."

Jo agrees. She doesn't always see eye to eye with her mom, they're too similar in many ways and both bull-headed, but they make it work even when they get madder than hell at each other. She thought Sam and Dean were a bit like that — inseparable no matter what. It doesn't seem right for them to willingly be apart. 

"What's going on, Bobby?" she asks. That question is what brought them here, after all, along with her mom's determination to get Bobby back into the flow of things.

The Harvelles know bits and pieces: that somehow The End Times are here, the Winchesters were at ground zero, and Bobby is stuck in a chair due to a possession he managed to break himself. The details have been absent and clearly they're important, given this development of Sam and Dean going splitsville.

Bobby eyes the women in front of him with a look that crosses between resignation and caution. He looks like he isn't sure if he can trust them. Jo can see her mom tensing and readies herself for another argument. It never comes; Bobby heaves a sigh, and he waves Ellen to another chair stacked with books. "Move 'em and take a seat," he directs.

They spend the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening learning about Heaven and Hell, some details about Dean's Crossroads deal and the aftermath, Sam's extracurricular activities, and the wedge driven between the two brothers who somehow ended up at the heart of the Apocalypse.

 

\- - -

 

Crowley has an extensive amount of patience when necessary. It is something that has always been a point of pride. It's what has allowed him to live as long as he has and reach his current status. He is willing to bide his time for opportune moments.

However, his patience is not limitless, and current circumstances cause him to feel more restless than he tends to be. With the vast majority of Heaven and Hell united in pushing the Apocalypse through, there is no room for dissent. Crowley has kept his peace in the past couple years as plans picked up speed. He's played all his cards close to the vest and let no one else know his full intentions.

Now Lucifer is free of the Cage, demons are falling over themselves to prove their worthiness, and angels are making a more frequent appearance than they ever have in Crowley's time. No one's showing a lick of sense and Crowley is _almost_ tempted, if it wouldn't threaten his own highly attuned sense of self-preservation, to point out the foolishness to the demons eagerly throwing their lot in with Lucifer. 

There's nothing to be done, though, and Crowley keeps his attentions to those under his command, ensuring that the Crossroads run as smoothly as they can at this point in time. He's making sure that no one oversteps their bounds and betrays him again. It rankles that Lilith had got her dirty talons into a couple of his girls. If his ranks had maintained their allegiance, no one would be in the position they are now. Crowley suspects he would have turned down Dean Winchester's deal had he been aware of the bargain being made. Then again, denying such a deal would likely have painted a target on his back earlier.

His current path will assuredly brand Crowley as the demon most-wanted by Hell and Heaven. There's no one to trust amongst the realms, but Crowley would be foolish not to attempt some allegiance in resistance. He curls his lip at the thought of throwing in his lot with stubborn fools, but his options are limited. Even though he has yet to make their personal acquaintance (he doesn't have a death wish), Crowley knows enough about the Winchester brothers to know they're the only realistic option available to derail the impending destruction.

 

\- - -

 

Jo hears the door open behind her. "Would you have done all that for me?" she asks quietly. She hears her mom's footsteps pause on the weathered wood of the porch. She can easily imagine how Ellen looks, standing there halfway out the door and watching Jo staring blankly at the scrap yard.

Ellen moves to stand at Jo's side. Jo's thankful for the warmth, having felt an unnatural chill since listening to Bobby's explanation of events.

"I'd do that and more for you, baby girl," Ellen murmurs, voice a little choked. Jo swallows hard and nods her acknowledgment, but she can't look over. "The things we do... When it comes to love, honey, we're likely to go blind. Especially when we don't know about the other consequences."

Jo bites her lip, holding in her confession for as long as she can. When Ellen wraps an arm around Jo's shoulders, she bursts out, "I wouldn't have done it!" Jo ducks her head and squeezes her eyes shut tight. "I-I'm sorry... but I wouldn't. It would kill me slowly for a while, I know it'd hurt worse'n hell, but I wouldn't." She releases a self-deprecating laugh. "I really don't think I would."

"Ain't nothing that'd make me ever want you to! Shit, are you kidding me?" Ellen squeezes Jo tightly to her side. "No way, honey."

"I understand why, though," Jo quickly adds. "I'm not trying to say what Dean did was wrong."

Ellen sighs quietly. "That boy couldn't let his last family go. I wouldn't be able to let you go either, Jo."

"I'd hate what it would do to you." Jo feels tears build in her eyes and hates that she wants to cry. She knows she's stronger than this.

"I think I'd be worse if I had to be without you. Look how it went for Sam." Ellen presses a kiss to Jo's hair. "Damn, those poor bastards. What're they supposed to do when the world's against 'em?"

Jo doesn't have to search for an answer. "Keep fighting." She feels her mother's laugh more than hears it.

"That's my daughter."

She smiles a little. "'Cuz of you, y'know. You might not've wanted me to hunt, but you sure gave me the fighting spirit."

"I knew you'd never be a sidelines type of girl. Can't blame me for wishing you'd kept to safer ground, though." Ellen's arm goes tight again, and Jo knows it's out of that renewed spark of desire to take Jo and run somewhere safe.

"No place to hide, Mom," Jo says bluntly. "Especially now."

"Right." Ellen clears her throat. "The honest-to-God end of the world. How the hell did we get wrapped up in this?"

"Just good ol' Harvelle luck," Jo quips.

Ellen bats Jo's arm in admonishment. "C'mon, Bobby's gonna need something to focus on to keep his mind off those fools who've gone radio silent. Let's look into our options here. I refuse to believe we're just going to slip off the face of this planet."

Jo isn't sure what their options may actually be, but she's more than willing to stubborn her way through even impossible odds. She may not be willing to trade a crooked deal to pull her mom back from a Heavenly rest, but if she did have to strike out on her own and save the world, well, there's a hell of a lot she would be willing to do.

 

\- - -


	2. secretly they're saviors

Jo hasn't had any direct contact with either Winchester since the incident with War, but she was around when Bobby took a call from Dean. Dean's voice had risen in volume shortly after the first hello.

"What do you mean you haven't heard from him?" Dean's voice was loud enough that Jo could understand his words.

Bobby's eyes narrowed. "Gee, I've always been the first on his speed dial. Weird he hasn't called, innit?"

"Damn it, Bobby! I've left a half dozen messages. He always picks up. Hell, he wanted to talk just this morning! Don't you know where he is?"

"I'm not your brother's keeper," Bobby reminded. "He was in Oklahoma a few days ago, but I imagine he cleared out after—"

"Yeah, okay, I know about that. I need to get to him, Bobby."

Bobby had promised to be in touch, then tried to call Sam himself. Then Jo tried. Then Ellen. A day later, their calls led to a disconnected number.

Weeks go by with Jo and Ellen following Bobby's leads to areas where they're needed most. Bobby is back up and running as central contact for hunters nationwide. He always sounds stressed and, more often than not, there is a slur of drink to his voice. Still, he remains a beacon of invaluable information. 

Occasionally Jo and Ellen get updates about Dean and the still missing Sam. Dean's taken to dropping in on Bobby or going through bouts of contacting anyone he thinks may have connected with Sam. Ellen keeps those conversations short, explaining to Jo later that they can only let themselves be distracted so much before they need to let the Winchesters sort things out on their own. Jo isn't sure she agrees. There's something particularly desperate in Dean's voice when he calls. The way he says, _"I_ have _to find him"_ seems to hold a purpose beyond what others have called the Winchester codependency.

Regardless, there is little anyone can do but keep an eye out for some sign of the younger Winchester and pass along any news they find. Sometimes Jo wonders if Sam is dead. She won't be the one to suggest that possibility to Dean.

 

\- - -

 

"Get down!"

Jo drops and rolls aside, no time to process who the familiar voice belongs to. Orange lightning flares in the chest of the demon coming from her right. The body falls at her side as she moves herself into a crouch. She swipes a hand over the cut on her cheek — it itches and won't stop bleeding.

"What do you have?"

Jo blinks in surprise when Sam Winchester enters her field of vision. He reaches down to the corpse and yanks the knife free. He wipes the blood on the corpse's sleeve, turning away quickly after he's done.

"Jo?" he prompts, frowning slightly as he looks down at her. "You okay?"

Regaining herself, Jo stands and nods. "Fine. Where've you been?"

"Not important. What do you have with you?" Sam's gaze is already shifting away from her and examining their surroundings.

Right. Finish the fight first, searching questions later. Jo settles her priorities and brings out her half-full flask of holy water. "Used up a lot of supplies. This is the last of what I have on hand. Ran out of shells a few minutes ago." She hefts her heavy silver hunting knife etched with anti-demonic sigils. She has a stiletto at her side, too, though both weapons are stalling tactics. She arches an eye at Sam's knife. "Got any more of those?"

There's some indeterminable emotion that flickers across Sam's face as he looks down. His fingers shift on the hilt before his grip tightens again. "One of a kind," he tells her. "Come on, we need to keep moving."

"There's more supplies back at the auto shop on Green Street," Jo says as she follows Sam. "We set up shop before things got out of control."

"How many people are helping you out?"

Jo smirks a little. "Me and Mom might've recruited a couple mechanics."

"Civilians?"

"Hey, they saw the boss go black-eyed after inhaling a creepy cloud of black. Pretty sure at least one of 'em was already familiar with the paranormal. They were pretty set on helping out if they could."

Sam shakes his head as he turns down an alley that will cut down some time getting back to the garage. "There shouldn't be too many to clear out. Think the others will have things under control?"

"Well, probably depends on how you'd define that," Jo admits. She quickens her steps so that she's at Sam's side. "You have a plan?"

There's a ghost of a smile on Sam's face, something distant and a little eerie. "Not a great one."

"Hell, it's a start," Jo encourages.

 

\- - -

 

They manage to clear out the last of the demons. It reminds Jo of the town enthralled by War. The place is tiny, the epitome of small-town America, and more rustic than urban. Most of the people know each other, and there's more than enough horror and sorrow to go around as the survivors try to take in the damage; there are bodies in the street, bloody and broken. The local paramedics organize people to bring the injured to either the central church or the clinic. People are managing better than Jo might have expected. Strange things can happen when tragedy strikes, though, and Jo is more than grateful to hand the majority of the aftermath over to the townsfolk.

"Hey, where you going?" Ellen's voice draws Jo out of her thoughts and away from watching the crowd. Her mom's jogging after Sam as the tall hunter walks off.

Jo runs towards them, quickly catching up to her mom as Sam's steps slow and his shoulders tense. "I need to get going."

"Oh come off it, Sam. You can spare five minutes to get checked out. Then take another five and call that brother of yours," Ellen orders. Jo doesn't miss the way Sam's posture goes even more rigid at the suggestion.

"I barely got bruised, I'm good. I'll, uh, call Dean from the road." He doesn't sound convincing. 

Jo picks up her pace to walk at Sam's side. He looks bone-weary, and she notices that his features are sharper. He looks almost gaunt, and the shadows beneath his eyes certainly lend him a haunted look. "Christ," she mutters. "When's the last time you slept?"

Sam shoots her an annoyed look and stops abruptly. Jo steps in front of him and crosses her arms. She sees her mom pause a few feet back, watching carefully.

"I appreciate the concern," Sam says, sounding insincere. "But I'm good." He frowns at the cut on Jo's cheek, and she catches him making an aborted movement to raise his hand. "You need to get that cleaned up."

"It'll keep," she replies. "You gonna answer my question?"

"Are you gonna step out of the way?"

Jo releases a frustrated sigh. "Come sit down for a bit. What's that gonna hurt, huh?"

He looks extremely reluctant, and Jo is sure he'll turn this down and finally just walk away.

He surprises her, though. Sam's gaze flickers over her face and then he ducks his head a bit. "Alright," he agrees quietly.

Jo feels her eyes widen in surprise, but she's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Great! Let's go." She wraps a hand around Sam's wrist as she takes the lead. Ellen raises a questioning eyebrow at them but makes no comment.

 

\- - -

 

Sam lies awake on the couch he was offered when one of the local families welcomed the hunters into their home for the night. He listens to the natural buzz of insects outside and the occasional creak of the house settling. He hasn't heard any sound from upstairs where Ellen and Jo had been led to find a place to settle. It's been over an hour since they all turned in. He knows he has to move on. He's hoping the other hunters didn't call Dean when he wasn't looking. Even so, he needs to put some distance between them as soon as possible.

Slowly Sam sits up and puts his feet on the floor. He reaches for his bag and makes another check to be sure everything is packed. His shoes are at the end of the couch and he picks them up, deciding to wait until he's away from the house to put them on. The floorboards make a small groan as he stands up.

With practiced movements, he slips through the shadows of the hallway and unlocks the door, flinching at each little noise. The sound shouldn't be enough to alert a hunter rooms away, but he's still nervous. He's managed to avoid anyone he knows for a month; coming face to face with the Harvelles has unsettled him.

He's halfway down the driveway before he hears someone clearing their throat. Sam grimaces and searches for his company. Jo straightens up from her position against the tree at the end of the drive. Her blond hair catches some of the light from the street lamp down the block.

"Fancy meeting you here," she greets dryly. "So that's it? Help save the day and then slip off in the middle of the night?"

"I can't stay here." Sam feels a little ridiculous standing in the middle of the driveway with a bag over his shoulder and his shoes in his hand. "I'm sure you'll be headed out soon, too."

Jo shrugs. "Probably, but we haven't dropped off the radar."

"No one needs to know where I am," Sam says quietly.

"Maybe it's not about _need_ , Sam." Jo walks forward, and he can see her expression more clearly; mixed with frustration is a look of concern. "You've got people worrying about you."

Sam shakes his head and quickly shuts down the urge to ask if Dean is one of those people. "I have things I need to do without interference."

"Yeah..." Jo drawls skeptically. "Not alone."

"This is on me," Sam tells her, hoping she'll take it to mean his current hunt.

Jo is too perceptive to let that slide. "Seems to me our current circumstances are a little bigger than one man, Sam." She rolls her eyes. She even laughs a little. "No one has to be alone in this. It's pretty dumb to hunt alone, don't you know that by now? The occasional thing, fine, maybe you get lucky, but what the hell are you doing out there without someone to watch your back?"

"I'm managing just fine," Sam defends.

"Have you looked in a mirror lately?" Jo's expression turns grim. "You don't look so good, Sam. It's been, what, a month? And you're already down a good twenty pounds and have the face of a damn zombie."

Sam shrugs sharply and moves to step around her. "Fine, I'll work on my beauty sleep and watch my caloric intake."

"Sam!" Jo grabs his elbow and holds tight when he tries to pull free. Sam pauses, not wanting to just yank away. "Where are you going?" she asks, a pleading note in her voice.

"It doesn't matter," he answers wearily. He gently pries her fingers from his arm and steps away. "Just let me go, Jo, and please don't mention this to... anyone." He turns and takes long strides to get away. His pickup is parked down the road, and he decides to forgo his shoes until he has some distance between himself and a persistent Jo Harvelle.

"The hell you're just walking away!"

Sam hears Jo jogging after him. He barely resists the urge to groan in frustration. He picks up his pace but hears Jo matching his actions. He ignores her as he reaches the truck and unlocks the driver's side door. Hopping in, he closes the door and double-checks all of the locks.

Jo's hand slams against the passenger side window. Sam finally looks at her and meets a stormy glare. "Sam Winchester, don't you fucking dare drive away from me!" She smacks the window again. Sam's sorely tempted to continue ignoring her. He gets as far as sticking his key in the ignition, then Jo jumps in front of the truck and glares at him defiantly through the windshield.

Sam groans, dropping his head back against the headrest. Jo could give Dean a run for his money in the stubbornness department. As much as he doesn't want to, Sam leans over to open the passenger door. Jo watches him carefully for a long moment before dashing back to the door, as if worried Sam will pull out as soon as she steps out of the way.

As Jo pulls herself in, Sam's surprised to see that she pulls a duffel bag in alongside her. Jo slams the door shut and settles the bag between her knees before pulling on the seatbelt. When Sam continues to stare at her, Jo looks up at him expectantly. "Well? You were in a real hurry to get going a minute ago."

"What are you...?" Sam shakes his head, clueless as to why Jo is doing this. "Isn't your mom going to be looking for you?"

Jo tilts her head. "Then we'll both have people looking for us. Are you going to drive or what?"

"Jo, I don't know what you think you're doing, but you need to get back to Ellen. She needs you, I don't."

"We're gonna disagree on that," Jo retorts, cutting off Sam's excuses. "Now would you please start driving? When Mom wakes up and finds out we're both gone, she's gonna be madder than hell. I'd like to have at least a hundred miles between us before that happens."

Sam gives up on shaking Jo loose, for now. She'll likely be more than ready to head back to Ellen and whoever else they've been working with after less than a day with Sam. As he starts the truck, he thinks grimly that if nothing else, he has some stories sure to make her back off.

[ ](http://kuwlshadow.tumblr.com/post/158411157393/title-choices-seal-our-fate-author-enmuse)

 

\- - -

 

"Hey, Paul Bunyan, think we could pull off for some food?" Jo asks several hours down the road. Her phone vibrates harshly on the dashboard; she immediately presses a button to send the call to voicemail. She already texted her mom after the first attempted call to assure her that there's been no kidnapping, she's safe with Sam, and she'll call later.

Sam glances at Jo and nods silently. He's been pretty quiet during the drive, though he responds if Jo prompts him. She avoided the hard-hitting questions, even if they are the important ones. She asked about some hunting strategies, and they've been talking about recent omens. Jo shared some of the information Bobby has passed along over the weeks. She carefully avoids using Dean's name, even when he was involved in the information.

Jo looks at her phone and grimaces at the number of missed calls. "I'll have to give my mom a call, too. Not sure it's better to do it on an empty stomach or not."

"Better to get it over with," Sam suggests. "Though I'd prefer to be out of earshot when you do it."

"Wimp," Jo mutters although she doesn't blame him. Her mom has an excellent skill of making even the sturdiest of men quake in their boots. Jo's always admired that.

"I'd prefer to be out of the way of her wrath," Sam says with a grimace. "This exit look good?"

Jo catches a glimpse of the highway sign as they drive past. "It's fine." She doesn't really care about the particular food. Mostly the stop is to allow her time to make the doubtlessly unpleasant call to her mother and talk privately. Getting Sam to sit down and eat will be good, too. She doesn't remember him eating anything in town, not even when Ellen and Jo had taken a break from clean-up duty.

Sam makes the turn-off and parks in an isolated corner of the Cracker Barrel parking lot. Sam shuts off the ignition before looking at Jo. "So. Calling first?"

"Yep." Jo waves a hand towards the squat building that houses the restaurant. "Go on in and grab some coffee. I'll try to keep it short, but I'm not sure how successful that'll be."

Sam cracks a weak smile. "Good luck."

Jo waits until Sam is out of the truck and halfway across the parking lot before she makes the call. Ellen picks up before the first ring even trails off.

"Joanna Beth, what the _hell_ are you thinking? Where are you? What foolish thought possessed you to run off? I ought to put a tracker on you with the stunts you pull."

"Whoa, Mom. Slow down." Jo turns the phone volume down. "I knew Sam was gonna sneak out. I didn't want him running off alone just to disappear again and have no one at his back."

"And what did you just do to me?"

"You were planning to head back to Bobby's, weren't you?"

Ellen snaps, "With you! I told you from the beginning, if you're gonna be hunting, you'll be hunting _with me._ "

"I'm not doing anything alone here," Jo argues. "I'm not stupid, Mom. And this isn't about me."

"That boy isn't your responsibility."

Jo rolls her eyes. "It's not about responsibility. We all need help with this shit storm going down, and for whatever reason, Sam's not letting the usual people in. If I didn't surprise, I wouldn't be with him right now. I can't just let him go off on his own. You know Bobby was half suspecting he'd up and died."

"Then why the hell did you go without me?" Ellen demands.

That question has no answer that will satisfy her, Jo's certain. Reluctantly she makes herself respond. "It was gonna be hard enough to catch him off guard. I don't think he needed to feel ambushed either, and let's face it, you make the guys a little nervous."

"They attract more trouble than any hunter I've ever seen. You understand why I don't want you off on your own with Sam?"

"Give us a chance, Mom!" Jo's fingers clench around her phone. "I know you're scared about what might happen to me when I'm out of sight, but truth is, I'm just as safe with him — a trained hunter, one of the best — as I am with you. You usually trust me, so trust me on this. I'd like to get back to you and the others, but I don't want to leave without Sam. If we, if _I_ let him go now, I'm not sure I'll find him again. He needs me."

"He needs his brother."

Jo sighs and leans her head back. "Maybe, maybe not. He needs someone, though, and he's not gonna let just anyone stick around."

"I don't like this, Jo."

"I know you don't, Mom. I don't exactly think it's ideal either, but it's a starting point." 

Ellen is silent for a long while. Jo licks her lips and waits to hear the final verdict. This conversation has gone a lot better than anticipated.

"You call. _Every day_. No, twice a day _at least_. You tell me what you're hunting, where you're at, and if you need anything. You don't go off without Sam right there watching your back."

Jo isn't sure she'll be able to share their location — she has the feeling that Sam will want that carefully guarded so as to keep it from Dean — but she isn't going to argue that point right now. "Alright," she agrees. She feels a small smile tug at her lips. "You're the best, Mom."

"Shut the hell up. You're too damn stubborn for your own good."

"Learned from the best!" Her smile widens at the muttered cursing she hears over the line. Quietly she offers, "Thanks. I love you."

"You're still in trouble, girl. You and that idiot giant you're tagging after. I'll skin him alive if he lets anything happen to you."

"I'll tell him that," Jo returns dryly. "Are we okay for now? Can I go eat?"

"Go. Call me back in four hours."

"I promise."

" _Four hours._ Be careful," she says, gruffness cracking. "I love you."

"Love you, too, Mom. Talk with you later."


	3. and every demon wants his pound of flesh

Jo sticks around, and Sam can't deny that it's good to hunt with someone at his side again. She's smart and strong; she brings her own style to fights and sometimes a new perspective. Her time with Ellen has clearly prepared her to adapt to the unexpected, and Sam appreciates how willing she is to change plans when necessary. Dean always has a difficult time giving up a previously tried-and-true approach.

Sam and Jo know the score when it comes to demons. Since the opening of the gate in Wyoming, hunts involving demons have increased dramatically. Since Lilith's movements to break out the Seals, demons have practically become commonplace. Even while on his own, Sam has been able to dispense demons quickly, including small groups of three or four.

This latest fight shouldn't have been overly complicated. Perhaps there's someone else, someone smarter, calling the shots this time. He and Jo are struggling with a group of five. They dispatch two quickly, but new arrivals bring the group back up to strength. The demons are more than the usual canon fodder; they have some skill. They purposefully split the hunters so that Sam can only catch the occasional glimpse of Jo.

Sam isn't sure how it happens. He has one of the demons subdued and slams Ruby's knife home. He jerks it back and turns to face the next foe. He's brought up short when he realizes the demons are backing up, expressions blank as Jo walks forward. She doesn't look at them, gaze locked on Sam. He knows something is wrong, if not by the strange glint in her eye and the smirk of her lips, then there's the issue of her torn and bloody shirt but lack of a physical wound.

Shit.

Jo, or rather, the thing wearing her, plants her hands on her hips as she gives Sam a cocky smirk. "Sam. Long time no possess. You're always a handful, you know that?" The blonde glances disdainfully at the empty corpses of her fallen comrades. "Fools underestimate your ridiculous luck. And skill, I'll give you that. Daddy did raise his boys to be good little hunters, didn't he. Poor Johnny, though, so clueless as to the reality at hand. What do you think, Sam? Think Daddy would love you if he knew what you are?"

Sam straightens slowly, fingers clenched around his knife as he glares at the demon. "Meg. Get out of her."

Jo's eyes widen, and she blinks innocently, over-dramatic. "But I only want to be with you, Sam. It's been a real trick tracking you." Meg walks closer, sashaying Jo's hips and flicking long blonde hair over her shoulder. "Nice arm candy you have with you. Better than your oaf of a brother. How is Dean these days?" She pouts, putting on an expression of distress. "Oh, did you have a falling out? Is there something wrong with the infamous codependent duo?"

"What do you want?" Sam snaps.

Meg laughs loudly and waves a hand at him. "You can't be serious. Why do you _think_ I'm here, Sam? Someone is quite interested in meeting you face to face. I think it's about time you let Lucifer have a real look at you, wouldn't you say?"

Sam grits his teeth and forces back a shudder; he doesn't want to show her his fear. He decides to ignore her words and opts straight for an exorcism. As soon as the first word of Latin leaves his lips, Meg is on him. Jo's hands wrap around his throat and the sudden collision of a body into him knocks Sam onto his back. His knife is lost as he lifts both hands in attempt to push Meg off. She plants her knees on his hip and stomach, the sharp points of pain counting secondary when the brunt of her weight is going to the hands around his throat.

Jo's eyes go black, and she bares her teeth as Meg presses down. "No tricks to trap me, Sammy. No brother to pull your ass to safety. Be a good little hunter and shut those pretty eyes so we can go on a trip."

Spots swim across Sam's vision, and his ears ring with the distorted sound of blood pulsing through his veins. He can tell his attempts to pry at Meg's hands are weakening. He hates how pathetic this feels. He's faced Meg before, and sure, she can be a force to be reckoned with, but she hasn't had the upper hand like this. As the black spots in his vision widen, he feels the fear of being brought to Lucifer settling in. That brings more panic than the lack of air.

_No. He can't have me!_ He lets his hands fall away from the pointless attempts to ward off Meg and starts feeling for the knife. His mind is too jumbled from oxygen deprivation for him to be sure if he's getting ready to stab Jo or himself, but he doesn't have the time to sort out a plan.

As the body above him begins to look like little more than a shadow, he hears a male voice reciting an exorcism in clear, precise Latin. Meg screeches above Sam, and suddenly her hands are off his throat as she whirls to face whoever the newcomer is. She starts to shout at the other demons but chokes on her words as black smoke pours from her mouth.

Sam misses most of the show, too busy rolling to his side and coughing harshly as he tries to get air back into his lungs. He feels too dizzy to make any sudden movements, so he's slow to get a look around. He raises onto his elbows and sees the hosts of the remaining demons collapsed on the ground. He doesn't know if they're dead. 

Sam takes note of a stranger poking at one of the corpses with his foot, but he decides to check on Jo first. She lies nearby, facing away from him but clearly breathing. He reaches a trembling hand out to tug Jo onto her back. The wound that Meg had healed has reopened, and a thin line of blood trails down the curve of Jo's collarbone. He realizes that her necklace is missing, which must have been her anti-possession charm.

Jo groans and her eyelids flutter a moment before she pushes herself upright with a grimace. "Goddamn _bitch._ "

"You need to get a tattoo," Sam says.

Jo nods as she presses her fingers to the cut at the base of her throat. "Yeah. You're probably right."

"Do you two need more time to kiss it better, or can we get out of this bloody place?"

Sam and Jo look up at the stranger who's approached. The man is much shorter than Sam, appears middle-aged, and if his monochrome attire is anything to judge by, he has a clear affinity for black. The one stripe of color is the maroon tie immaculately situated around his neck. Sam keeps his eye on the man as he picks up Ruby's knife and slowly rises to his feet. The stranger meets his gaze with an arched brow.

"Who are you?" Sam demands. He holds a hand out to the side as Jo stands up, indicating she should stay back.

The stranger says, "Mind a change of scenery before we play twenty questions? This location isn't exactly a secret now."

"Fine, truck's back—"

"Need to be quicker, darling." The stranger steps forward, fingers outstretched. As soon as Sam feels the faint pressure of fingertips against his wrist, his surroundings change and they're standing on a split path in what looks like a park.

"Shit! What are you?" Jo raises her silver-bladed stiletto as she eyes the stranger suspiciously.

The stranger raises his hands in a gesture of peace, and he steps back several feet. "Name's Crowley. As for what..." His lips twitch in a sardonic smirk. A moment later, his eyes turn red. Jo makes a startled sound. Sam tightens his grip on his knife and swallows down the nausea he feels at the memories of countless crossroads demons turning him down.

"You helped us back there so I'm giving you one chance to leave," Sam says.

Crowley, eyes back to what passes as human, sweeps a sarcastic bow. "Oh, how gracious. Let me scamper off to my safe little— Where the fuck do you think I can go, Gigantor?" Crowley snaps, lip curled. "In case it escaped your notice, those demons back there report straight to Lucifer. I counted three who are off to tell Daddy about who helped his vessel slip away."

"Then why do it?" Jo asks. She hasn't budged an inch, still posed to leap into a fight.

"Isn't that the question?" Given the smoothness of his voice, Crowley seems to have calmed. His little smirk is back in place, and he slips his hands into his pants' pockets. "Everyone remembers Lucifer's... distaste, shall we say, for humans. Yet no one questions what happens when he finishes with humanity. What of the demons? We're used as petty canon fodder during his tantrum. Worth little to him as is, jump ahead and the demons are next on his kill list."

"So what?" Sam replies, eyes narrowing.

Crowley makes a sound of disgust. "Really? I'm not too sure about those rumors of a brain in that skull of yours. _I_ happen to like existing. I'm also a demon of discerning taste with a keen eye for the odds. Might be improbable, but there's something of a reputation you Winchesters carry. I can't very well take on the Devil by my lonesome, can I? It'd be foolish of you to try to do the same." Crowley makes a show of looking around. "Strange. Where's your other half?"

Sam grits his teeth and resists the urge to make a snappy retort. Jo moves closer, drawing shoulder to shoulder with him. Her blade is still at the ready, but her posture has relaxed a little. Sam isn't sure how to feel about that.

"You want to be allies," Jo says slowly, as if tasting the words to see if they're correct.

Crowley lets slip a small sneer before his expression smooths. "Much as I loathe to put myself in the position of being in the cross-hairs of hunters, I find my odds are better with you lot." He huffs. "Would it make you feel better to suss out a Deal?"

"Oh, so _now_ you want to deal?" Sam snarls.

Red flashes through Crowley's eyes and his expression grows hard. "Wasn't in my control, boy. Lilith had her nasty little talons hooked into some of my girls."

"What do you mean, your girls?" Sam asks suspiciously.

Crowley's lips tug up at the corners in clear amusement. "Didn't I mention, darling? I'm King of the Crossroads."

"Doesn't seem like it's much of an advantage for you right now." Jo smirks at the scowl he sends her way. "Just pointing out the obvious."

"Right. You're that Harvelle girl. Surprising."

Jo and Sam exchange a cautious glance. "How do you know who she is?" Sam asks warily.

Crowley rolls his eyes dramatically. "I'm not a damn ninny. Know thy enemy? Know my options. I won't go into things blind when my options are limited at this pressing time. It's best to be acquainted with your tried and true allies before attempting to align myself with you and yours."

"So you..." Sam trails off as he takes a moment to try and figure out what the demon intends. "Where do you think this is going to go?" He feels more than a little disgusted with himself that he's hearing Crowley out. Look how his last attempt to team up with a demon turned out.

"I expect to see Lucifer taken care of — killed, locked up, whatever, as long as _he is gone._ Then I slip my way back into Hell and work on some much needed housekeeping whilst you hunter types sort yourselves out up here. I'm sure there will be very meaningful and tearful reunions and celebrations. Apocalypse averted, et cetera."

Jo frowns, though her blade has lowered further. She looks more like she's having an actual conversation than on the verge of a fight. "You want to go back to Hell. You think we'd just let you walk away?"

Crowley waves dismissively. "Listen, love, topside is fun for a vacation and to seal deals for business, but home is hardly a dream with the mess it's in. Hell is dysfunctional, and that's bad for business and poor company. Too many loose cannons. I happen to like a bit more orderly arrangements."

"You want to be at the top of the food chain." Sam can't say he's surprised.

"See? There's that supposed intelligence." Crowley mockingly applauds. "Not much chance of securing Hell's throne whilst Lucifer is dead-set on wreaking havoc across the realms."

Sam flexes his grip on the hilt of Ruby's knife as he considers simply stabbing the demon. He doesn't need to hear another monster spin promises and lies. Beside him, Jo crosses her arms and considers Crowley with a speculative look.

"You'll understand our distrust," she remarks.

Crowley inclines his head. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't distrust me." He points at his face. "Demon. King of the Crossroads." He bares his teeth in a sharp grin. "But, that means I'm a businessman. Never would've got to my position without having my wits, and I'd never have kept my place without a strong business sense."

"In my experience, demons hold their positions with the application of extreme violence," Sam spits.

"Don't knock it, darling," Crowley replies, unperturbed. "Business is all about... speaking the language of the land. Deal with a human, you need to use sweet words or lay out the facts. Deal with a demon, and it's going to take more than a little blood and sweat."

"No," Sam says in a low voice. "No deal."

Crowley's expression tightens. He looks ready to start shouting again.

Jo interrupts the potential outburst with, "How do we contact you?"

Sam stares at her in disbelief. Crowley smooths a hand over the lapels of his jacket. "Ah. A wise woman." He snaps his fingers and hands over a cream-colored business card with deep red text. "My number. No need to bother with blood and smoke, for now." He gives Sam a sour look. "I may understand the distrust, but we're all pressed for time. You can't afford to be picky, darling."

Sam grits his teeth. "The answer's still no."

Jo has the card in her hand, and she casts Sam a sidelong look. Her lips press together, and her expression resolves into determination. Lifting her chin a bit, she meets Crowley's gaze. "We'll be in touch."

Crowley runs his gaze over Jo, sizing her up rather than checking her out. The demon offers a small bow, only faintly mocking. "At your discretion."

"Wait, where are we?" Jo frowns at the park surrounding them.

Crowley turns to Sam with an expression of innocence. "Oh, would it be a terrible inconvenience if I hurried off to my demon dungeon and left the hunters lost in a public park?"

Sam scowls. "Just put us back where you found us."

Crowley snorts quietly. "Tell me where your bloody truck is, and I'll do you the favor of getting it to you. Your necks are on the chopping block if you turn up back there."

Jo asks again, "Where are we, Crowley?"

He appears to think about it for a moment. "Middle of Idaho," he answers.

Sam exchanges a surprised look with Jo. "That's halfway across the country," he mutters.

Crowley looks disgruntled as he waves at himself. "Hello, have we met? _King of the Crossroads_."

"Demons don't have that sort of—"

"For fuck's sake— Where's your bloody truck?" Crowley snaps.

Suffice to say, in less than ten minutes Sam and Jo are climbing into the truck. Sam keeps a sharp eye on Crowley, who stands at the edge of the parking lot with his hands in his pockets. The demon returns his stare, expression impossible to read.

Sam decides that a few miles down the road, they need to stop and add some sigils to the truck to prevent tracking. Plus Jo needs that tattoo.

 

\- - -

 

Jo startles awake at a sound she can't quite identify while still half-asleep. Her eyes blink open to darkness, the motel room still draped in the minimal light of late night. She slips a hand under the mattress to grab her knife as she waits for the return of the sound. A moment later, Sam bolts upright in the next bed. He inhales a shuddering, gasping breath like he's surfacing from nearly drowning. 

"Sam?" Jo uncurls her fingers from her knife and sits up. She hesitates with her hand hovering over the light switch. Some of the dim light filtering through the curtains catches Sam's eyes, and she can see how wide they are.

"Jo...?" It takes some time, but Sam pulls himself together. His legs bend and he braces his arms on his knees. "Sorry I woke you."

Jo turns on the lamp, then shifts to cross her legs. "Not a big deal," she assures him. After all, this has happened before. Sometimes he tells her about it.

After a long pause, Sam's shoulders seem to slump and he admits, "Dream walk."

With a grimace, Jo looks down at the sheets covering her lap and starts picking at a seam. She isn't sure which is worse for him — the nightmares or visitation by the Devil. Sam seems to be in similar states of stress after either one. At least he told her about the dream walking and why Lucifer's stalking him. She's sure that Sam meant for the confession to chase her off in that first week, but she stubbornly hid how unsettled it made her feel and came to grips with it on her own.

"Is this a late night diner kind of night or do you want to hit the road?" she asks. Sam tilts his head her way, furrowing his brow like he does when he's trying to puzzle out how she's still here. "What?"

Sam just shakes his head. "I'm going to take a shower. Try to get some more sleep, I'll be fine waiting a couple hours."

Rolling her eyes, Jo unfolds her legs and scoots to the edge of her mattress. "Oh please, if I'm that tired later on, I'll nap in the car. Go take your shower. I'll pack up and figure out breakfast." She glances at the clock, seeing that they still have a couple of hours before dawn. "Yeah, breakfast."

Sam lifts his hands in surrender as he stands up. "I don't get you," he says, tone lighter and posture slightly more relaxed.

"Good, I'll remain a mystery. Go, you're going to stink up the truck," she teases, slapping his back as he shuffles past her. She's relieved to see the bitchy look he sends her way.

Once he's closed the bathroom door, Jo sits down again, head in her hands. She knows she fell asleep before Sam and judging by the time, she's only gotten four hours. He has to be running on fumes. _Damn it all._ She wishes they could figure out a way to ensure a good night's sleep.

 

\- - -

 

"You know what really sucks?" Jo says, a little breathless.

Sam can't spare the time to throw her a bitch face, but he does scowl. "Not now."

Jo pushes a set of drawers towards the door Sam is bracing against in anticipation of their pursuers. "No, really, I think we should talk," she continues. She shoves hard against the drawers, and they bump into Sam's hip. She turns for a bookshelf next. "We have an option to help with this shit but nope, Winchester says we should handle this the good ol' human way."

"We're hunters, it's not like we're powerless!" Sam grunts as something attempts to knock the door inward. "Hurry up," he adds.

Jo yanks the shelf from its position against the wall, then circles to the other side to begin walking it to the door. "I'm not saying we're hopeless. But it sure as hell would be _easier_ if we accepted a little help. Things are heating up, Sam."

There's a sharp shout from the other side of the door, then a low murmur of harsh voices. Sam cautiously steps away from the door to help Jo move the shelf into place. For a moment their gazes meet. "I'm not throwing in with a demon," he tells her. "And I sure as hell don't get why you'd want to."

Jo's lips press into a thin line. "Once bitten, twice shy. I get it. I'm not saying we trust the bastard, but it's something we need to at least consider."

"Not going there," Sam replies as he braces the shelf against the door.

They step away and begin preparing their weapons. The limited space that will be available as the creatures come through will help even the odds against their pursuers.

"It's that or you call Dean. It's not enough, just the two of us," Jo lays out her ultimatum. She isn't going to run after Sam without further backup. This latest job, where they've found ghouls and wraiths teaming up, is just the latest in a string of increasingly complex hunts. The creepy crawlies are forming new allegiances while the demons wreak havoc wherever they can. As if not to be outdone by the pending Apocalypse, other creatures are coming forth to make their presence known in disturbing and creative ways.

"Let's just focus, okay?" Sam snaps.

Jo lets the matter drop in favor of taking on the first creature that manages to hack through the door.

 

\- - -

 

"How did you get here?" Sam mutters crossly as he wraps part of his ruined over-shirt around a deep bite in his forearm. He sends a dark glare at the demon standing nearby.

Crowley flicks a speck of dust from his suit jacket. "I don't believe you deserve to know," he replies blandly.

Jo hands Sam another freshly torn piece of flannel. "Wrap it tighter. I'll stitch it later, but we can't have you losing blood on the way back." Turning to Crowley, she says, "Thanks."

The demon straightens up and glances over the hunters. "Can't have my meal ticket expiring before I use it," he says.

Sam holds his tongue. He focuses on putting the tourniquet in place. Jo takes over tightening it. She nods when it's ready and shoves at Sam's shoulder. "Get in the truck, I'm driving." She turns to Crowley and gives him a nod. "Again, thanks. Could've gotten bad for us."

Crowley snorts. "You think? Seems to me if I hadn't turned up, Moose would've been dinner."

"Don't know that it was _that_ dire..." Jo says, eyes narrowing.

The demon holds up his hands. "Fine. Don't step on the ego, got it."

"See you around. Or not. I prefer not," Sam grunts, ready to part ways.

"A little, worthless 'thank you' is all I get?" Crowley steps forward, face flushed with anger. "Get your act together. You. Need. Me."

"Not sure we do," Sam retorts. "Maybe we don't get a quick fix without you around, but I don't have to keep looking over my shoulder waiting for the knife in my back, either."

Crowley's irises take on a red hue. "I'm sorely tempted, but I happen to believe you wouldn't be in the hereafter long, given your history and a certain fallen archangel's investment in you."

The demon's words make something freeze in the pit of Sam's stomach. He feels his focus shift; his eyes dart to Jo and away again. He wonders if she's looked close enough to see the strange scars he has. She couldn't have seen the pattern at the back of his throat, at least; it still itches him on occasion.

"Ah." Crowley's tone is... odd. Sam can't place it. Reluctantly, he looks back at the demon and finds Crowley's expression unreadable. His eyes have returned to normal, and his gaze fixes on Sam. Voice strangely low and affected by a tone Sam still can't place, the demon remarks, "Lucifer does ensure he has a proper suit to wear to the party. It wouldn't do to show up in something full of holes." His gaze sweeps over Sam, and it seems almost pitying.

Sam feels Jo's hand on his elbow. He glances at her cautiously. Her head is slightly bowed, her hair obscuring her expression. She takes a shaky breath but lets it out in a sigh without saying anything. She shakes her head a little and rubs her thumb near the edge of Sam's makeshift bandage. Eventually she murmurs, "Let's get going."

"Jo..." Sam cuts himself off. He doesn't want to talk about this.

"Need to stitch that up." Jo clears her throat after her words come out a little hoarse. She looks over at Crowley. "We need a little more time."

The demon scowls but waves a hand as if giving them permission to leave. "Whatever. Clock is ticking. Don't bleed out, Moose."

Sam makes a face as he turns toward the road where their truck is parked. Jo follows him, hand still on his elbow. As they reach the vehicle, Jo says, "C'mon 'Moose,' your carriage awaits."

"Where the hell did he pull 'moose' from?" Sam complains.

Jo snickers and despite the topic, Sam's glad to see her genuine grin. "I have to admit, I like it." She teases, "I don't know, it kind of fits."

"I refuse to acknowledge that with an argument," Sam grumbles.

 

\- - -

 

Three weeks later, Sam and Jo stand in a barn surrounded by a small group of bodies previously possessed by demons. "That's the second time you've done an exorcism without affecting yourself," Sam accuses as Crowley crosses the floor. 

Crowley chuckles. "All demons are not created equal," he says dismissively.

Sam scoffs. "Even Azazel could be exorcised."

Crowley looks offended. "It's not _all_ about power, boy."

"Says the demon going after Hell's throne."

"Look who's talking," Crowley retorts. "The boy with demon blood." He snorts dismissively as Sam flinches. "Lilith's bitch did a real number on you."

Jo sighs and steps between the two men. "Let's move on, guys. Argue later, preferably after I've cleaned up and have some energy to deal with your crap."

"The bloody clock is ticking down," the demon points out crossly. "Are you ready to focus or are we still playing the game where I jump in last minute to save your sorry arses?"

Jo gamely resists the urge to groan as Sam's expression turns stormy. Crowley's face is looking a little red, something Jo has had the time to learn means his anger is at a boiling point. She really would like to avoid another shouting match and get a much longed-for shower and rest.

"I'm calling a time-out," she announces before Crowley starts shouting. "Hold your damn arguments for the morning. Still human here, and we need our sleep." She glances at Sam. "Plus, Sam and I can talk things over before we get into this again." It's a sign of how far they've come that he makes no protest.

Crowley notices, too. He smooths the lines of his overcoat and gives a curt nod. "Fine. Call me when you're decent."

"Whatever," Sam mutters, sounding weary. He turns and heads for the barn doors.

Jo rubs her temples where a headache is beginning to settle. "See you tomorrow," she says tiredly.

Crowley stops her with a hand on her elbow. She's surprised by the contact since the demon has only briefly touched them to pull the hunters along on his demonic teleport.

In a lowered voice, Crowley asks, "He finally considering it?" His gaze slants to the side to watch Sam leave.

"Last time he trusted a demon, he was tricked into starting this whole mess." Jo's lips thin as she eyes the demon. "I'm not thrilled about any of this myself."

Crowley scowls. "You give the chit too much credit, or you underestimate the floppy-haired giant. It took more than a sneaky bitch leading him around by his prick. Or have you forgotten about his other half and all the other players on the board?"

"You don't blame him," Jo realizes with surprise.

"Of course I do! Both of those bloody Winchesters. Dumb bastards broke the first and final Seals, letting loose the fucking Devil! The perfect little puppets." Crowley sneers at the now empty doorway. "Stalling only means continuing to play out this damned script. Grow a pair and buck the bloody system, or it's already over."

He lets go of Jo's arm abruptly, and his hands drop to his sides, fingers curled into fists.

"You believe in choice," Jo observes. She ignores his haughty expression. "It's why you're letting Sam make the decision."

Crowley glares at her. "Don't underestimate me. I'll beat sense into him if I have to."

Jo considers how Sam is defensive in his arguments; his anger over the idea has become surface-deep. She thinks about how minutes ago Sam had gone quiet rather than protest continuing the conversation tomorrow. "I don't think you'll have to," she tells Crowley.

The demon grunts, clearly unimpressed. "We'll see."


	4. it's time to choose sides now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried my best with the British and Scottish English for Crowley's voice, but I'm only an American with a fondness for some YouTubers with who have those accents/grammar/slang.
> 
> If you have suggestions to better fit, I'm happy to accept them!

Sam sighs to himself as he rinses shampoo from his hair. He can already feel the water going cold. He let Jo have the first shower. She'd looked frustrated and tired after the last confrontation with demons and Crowley.

He pauses, staring blankly at the tiled wall as he processes the fact that he has just separated Crowley from general "demons" — and not as a way of singling out the King of the Crossroads as particularly bad news. No, Sam had been thinking of "foe" and "friendly." Sam shakes his head, disgusted with himself. Beneath that disgust, however, is a tendril of fear. Dean's voice is in his head cursing out the monsters they hunt and how stupid it is to trust them.

Sam finishes his shower after making sure all of the blood and dirt is scrubbed away. He dries off mechanically, following routine as he tries to keep his thoughts from going to Crowley. He knows he can't keep ignoring the matter, though. For one thing, the guy keeps showing up; granted, it's to save the hunters' asses or help, even if they could have managed themselves. For another, Jo has that stubborn look that means she's not going to let the conversation slide again.

With that in mind, Sam slips into sweatpants and a plain tee, braces himself, and walks out of the bathroom. Jo is sitting at the end of her bed, brushing out her long hair. She arches an eyebrow at him when their gazes meet.

Sam gives his hair a rigorous toweling and huffs out a sigh. "So. We're talking about this, I take it?"

Jo sets aside her brush and tucks her hair behind her ears. "Yeah. I think we need to."

Sam nods reluctantly and turns to throw his towel into the bathroom. Mid-turn, he catches movement from the corner of his eye.

"Hello, Sam."

He startles badly at Castiel's sudden appearance. Sam stumbles back a step and has his arms raised in a defensive maneuver before he fully processes who's standing in front of him. He stares in disbelief at the angel. Jo stands next to the bed, gun in her hand and pointed at the back of Castiel's head. Her eyes are wide, but her aim is steady.

Slowly, Sam lowers his arms and gestures for Jo to stand down. "Castiel." He has to clear his throat. He glances around quickly and is relieved that no one else has entered the room. "How did you get here?"

The angel blinks slowly and turns his head to look at Jo. "Dean said to seek Joanna Harvelle." He frowns at the gun in her hand. "That will be painful. I would appreciate that you do not shoot."

Jo's mouth is tight as she glares at the intruder. Her gun hand twitches, but when Sam gives her a second signal to back down, she does. "So," she says, "this is the angel."

"Jo, meet Castiel. Cas, this is Jo." The introductions are unnecessary, but Sam needs a few moments to regain his balance.

"This is the part where one says it is a pleasure to meet you." Castiel sounds uncertain although his expression is impassive.

"Not sure it is, in this case," Jo remarks dryly. She engages the safety on her gun and tucks it into her waistband within easy reach.

Castiel's head tilts to the side as he frowns. Sam decides he would rather they not get sidetracked while Castiel tries to puzzle out this latest human quirk. 

Sam brings them back to the situation at hand. "Why are you here?" He crosses his arms over his chest instinctively, and he feels like he ought to straighten to his full height as Castiel returns his attention to Sam.

"I am here to return you to your brother."

Sam just manages to hold in a snort of disbelief. "You think I'm just going to go with you?"

The angel looks up at Sam with an expression of confusion. "You belong at Dean's side."

Sam shakes his head. "Don't know if you've heard, but we agreed to go our separate ways." His jaw tightens as he swallows down bitterness, remembering his disappointment when Dean turned him last time they spoke.

"That is not the case now," Castiel counters firmly.

Sam feels his shoulders slump and he bows his head. Quietly he asks, "Why does Dean want me back?" _What's changed?_ he wonders.

"Dean is worried about Lucifer getting to you," the angel states.

Sam's head jerks up at that, and he feels his eyes widen. His chest suddenly feels constricted, and it feels as if a block of ice has settled in his stomach. Castiel appears to have no idea what he has just said or how it affects Sam.

Swallowing hard, Sam chokes out, "Well, I'm doing fine." He clears his throat and grasps onto a flare of anger at his brother's distrust. "I'll keep saying no. He's not getting me, he never will," Sam swears.

Castiel looks frustrated, and his bright blue eyes seem almost icy. "You brother is concerned. You have not been in contact with him for nine weeks. He has need of you."

"For _what?_ " Sam bites back a laugh that he fears will sound hysterical. He spreads his arms in a sharp gesture. "To shoulder his guilt, too? I've got plenty, thanks." He doesn't dare look at Jo. She hasn't pushed him to talk about the nightmares that wake him most nights, nor does she make him go into the details of the downward spiral he went through after Dean's Deal came due. She listens to him, and she will call his bullshit, but when he stops talking or starts getting emotionally overwhelmed, she moves their conversation in another direction.

"I'm not going to be his whipping boy." Sam sighs unhappily. It hurts to say, it hurts to _think_ , but he is starting to understand that Dean needs somewhere to focus his anger; when Sam is present, he's the one to take the blame. "All we're good for is taking things out on each other. It's not going to get us anywhere, Castiel. We can't get wrapped up in the mess that is our family if we're going to stop this thing. Dean was right about that. We get distracted, and it makes us vulnerable."

"You are vulnerable without your brother," Castiel counters, and it sounds like a reprimand. "This is tiresome. Return with me to talk with Dean yourself."

Sam quickly steps away from the outstretched hand. He moves back farther, arms held up in a (probably useless) gesture of _"hold up."_

"Cas, I don't want to go anywhere with you," Sam says slowly. Jo moves to his side and rests her hand on his back. Her expression is hard as she stands with Sam to face the angel.

Castiel's lips thin into a colorless line as he glances between the two humans. "I do not understand why you wish to be separated. I do not have time to be your messenger. You will discuss this with Dean."

Sam takes another step back, and Jo follows his movement. Just as Sam opens his mouth to offer further protest, another person appears. Crowley stands in front of Sam, looking up at the tall hunter with a smirk.

The demon casts a glance over his shoulder at Castiel, who looks torn between confusion and anger. Crowley greets, "Hi, Angel." He wiggles his fingers in a mocking wave. "Bye, Angel."

A brush of Crowley's fingers against Sam's arm is the only warning he has before their surroundings abruptly change. Sam's head feels like it's spinning, and he's unsteady on his feet. Jo's hand fists into his shirt, and she leans against him. The teleportation felt rougher than usual.

"Welcome to the clubhouse," Crowley says. The demon turns away from the hunters and walks towards a decrepit-looking fireplace.

Sam looks around and discovers that nearly every surface of the room they stand in is covered with sigils. He recognizes some of them, but there are a few that he finds entirely alien. They appear to be standing in an old living room; the open layout joins with what looks like a front hall and a set of warped wooden stairs leading up.

"Where are we?" Jo asks as her fingers loosen their grip on Sam's shirt. She stays close, palm warm through his clothes. He realizes after a moment that the room is extremely cold. His toes begin to ache against the bare, rotting wood beneath his feet.

Crowley gives the place a disgusted sneer. "Bolthole. Hardly ideal but it's best warded for our current circumstances." He looks at Jo and nods. "Good that you texted."

"What?" Sam looks down at Jo in bewilderment.

The blonde sighs softly and withdraws her hand. "I didn't think we'd get away from your brother's angel buddy, okay? You're not ready to go back, so that meant getting a little help." She gestured to Crowley. "Just so happens we had a get-out-of-jail-free card."

Sam is less surprised by Jo contacting Crowley than by her decision to do so coming from her consideration of Sam's needs.

"You could've gone to join up with your mom," Sam says, still stunned.

Jo shrugs. "You need me," she tells him bluntly. "I'll see her when I see her. Stopping the Apocalypse can't wait."

"Are we finally agreed?" Crowley interrupts, tone exasperated.

Sam feels their stares as he looks down at his cold toes. He's standing on something written in Enochian. He feels his heart beating steadily against his chest and feels its echo against his throat. He feels a strange mixture of calm and scared.

"We need all the help we can get," he eventually says.

"Fucking _finally!_ " Crowley slaps his hands together in a single clap. 

Jo's hand finds its way into Sam's, and her fingers gently squeeze around his.

 

\- - -

 

"You want to what?" Crowley demands, eyes narrowed. Jo isn't sure whether the reaction is from confusion or anger.

The two hunters sit with the demon at a deeply scored table in the kitchen of their bolthole. Compared to the rest of the place, the room is in fairly decent condition. 

Jo watches Sam as he thinks over his reply. He's leaning his forearms on the table, hands clasped together tightly. She realizes that she never sees him sitting or standing up straight unless he's defensive or playing a part during a hunt. Gone is the confident, almost cocky, posture she'd seen in their early acquaintance.

She takes a sip of her mediocre coffee, then glances somewhat jealousy at Crowley's cup of steaming tea. The demon has been weirdly protective of his tea, though, so she and Sam have been stuck with lousy coffee for the past couple of days.

"We need to think outside the box, right?" Sam finally says, gaze flicking between Jo and Crowley. He doesn't look fully certain, but Jo takes it as a good sign that he's offering up any suggestion. She's heard him sleeping more fitfully (when he _does_ sleep) in the past week than since they began working together. "We're already a... weird group. Maybe it's worth it to reach out to some other beings out there."

Crowley's eyebrows arch in affected surprise. "Why, Moose, you say the sweetest things."

Sam scowls. "It's not my first choice. But if we're throwing our lot in with you, why not look further?" He visibly deflates a moment later, gaze dropping to his hands. "It was... different when we went after the Trickster. I just had this... I don't know. I had a feeling." His shoulders twitch as if he wants to hunch in on himself. Jo resists the urge to sigh; this is a step forward, surely, but they have a long way to go before Sam reflects the earnest young man she first met at the Roadhouse.

"Why'd the Trickster come to mind?" she prompts, encouraging Sam to come out of whatever guilt induced corner he's retreating to.

Sam's lips twitch in a sardonic smile. "One of Crowley's justifications, actually." He looks at the demon. "Without humanity around to make things messy, what good is your job?"

Crowley sniffs as he tilts his chin up. "I don't believe those were my words."

Sam's smile brightens. "Close enough."

The look of disgust on Crowley's face causes Jo to snicker, and she barely manages to mask the sound with another sip of coffee. He casts her a sharp glare.

"So that's my idea," Sam says. He runs his fingers through his hair. "It might take some time, but we can probably find him."

Crowley looks exasperated as he leans forward and slaps the table. "What you're not telling me is _who_. I can't do anything without the who."

Sam's forehead furrows, and he gives Crowley a look as if the demon's an idiot. "The Trickster," he enunciates slowly.

Crowley rolls his eyes so dramatically that Jo is surprised she can't hear the movement. " _Which_ bloody trickster, Gigantor?" Crowley snaps. "There are dozens out there, you numpty."

Sam turns to Jo with a perplexed expression. "I... don't know."

"Can't help," Jo says with a wince. "Haven't encountered any before."

After a moment, Sam licks his lips nervously, "Bobby was with us, the first time." He stares down at his hands where he's started picking at the edge of his nails. "Told us to get our heads out of our asses and pointed us in the right direction." There's a small, bittersweet smile on Sam's face.

Crowley grunts quietly. He shoves a cell phone across the table. "Call your old man if you're set on this idea."

Jo straightens up and glares at the demon. "Did you get our stuff back and not tell us?"

"Don't be daft," Crowley scolds. "You have what I took from your angel-infested room."

Sam picks up the phone reluctantly. "Dean probably had Castiel grab everything, anyway."

Fortunately for the hunters, Crowley had the forethought to grab their primary weapons bag before zapping them away. They have the demon-killing knife in their possession, and Jo still has her father's blade along with a few of her favored knives. They lost the larger guns and most of their other supplies. Crowley seems able to scrounge up obscure items easily enough, though, and he can do the mundane, as well. Sam and Jo still need to get some basics, but Crowley turned up the first evening with a change of clothes and some food.

"Are we allowed to leave yet?" Jo asks. Crowley has insisted since their arrival that they need to lay low; apparently very low, given that he set the boundaries to the ramshackle house.

Crowley frowns at her. A beat later, he makes a dismissive sound and waves a hand towards the doorway. "Whatever. Try not to cause a ruckus and bring Heaven, Hell, and your damn hunting family down around our heads." He gestures at the kitchen counter; "Wallet there, a second phone, and you—" he points at Jo with a fierce look "—tuck that hex bag close to your skin to keep out of sight from those fucking angels."

Jo blinks in surprise. "You can do that?"

The demon grumbles something inaudible under his breath. "Don't underestimate me, love."

Sam pushes back from the table to investigate their supplies. Jo joins him and takes a cautious sniff of the hex bag. It's hardly the foulest thing she's smelled, but it isn't the type of thing a person would want to get close to, given the choice. She makes a face as she reaches under her shirt and tucks the small bag beneath her bra, between her breasts. Sam politely averts his eyes, but Crowley smirks at her. Jo gives him the finger and grabs the phone. Checking the contacts list, she sees only two: Moose and Not Moose.

"Really?" she asks in amusement as she turns the screen to Crowley. The demon gives her a toothy grin. Sam looks over and frowns. Jo shakes her head and tucks the phone into her pocket. "Whatever. How far are we from a shopping center?"

 

\- - -

 

They bought new clothes, a laptop, and hit a sporting goods store. Sam waits until Jo agrees to split up. She probably knows that he's going to make a call, given how often he touched his pocket with Crowley's phone all morning. Jo is on her way into the grocery store, and Sam is supposed to walk over to the library to catch up on the recent news. Crowley hasn't exactly been handing over newspapers or an internet-ready computer.

Sam takes a deep breath and lifts the phone. He taps in one of Bobby's numerous numbers and closes his eyes as he listens to it ring. He swallows hard, feeling nauseous as he anticipates the conversation about to come. _I have to do this,_ he tells himself. At the very least, he owes it to the others to let them know that he and Jo are alright.

"What do you need?" Bobby's voice comes through.

"Hey, Bobby...?" Sam trails off uncertainly. He opens his eyes and stares out the windshield.

"Jesus. Sam, where the hell are you?"

Sam huffs a small laugh. "I'm not going to tell you that," he admits quietly. "I just... needed you to know that we're okay. Me and Jo. We're doing fine. I figure you're probably worried if Castiel reported back."

"Damn right, you goddamn idjit!"

Bobby shouts a protest, and Sam can hear a commotion. His heart sinks; he has a good guess of who is about to speak.

"Where the fuck are you, Sammy? What the hell are you doing? You haven't called for months! Why didn't you go with Cas?" Dean's words come out rapid-fire, interspersed with additional cursing.

Sam can't speak for a long moment, heart in his throat. He blinks quickly, telling himself that the sting in his eyes is from the sun's glare. "Hey, Dean," he greets weakly.

"Do not, 'oh hey' me," Dean snaps. "What the hell is _going on?_ Cas says you and Jo were taken by a demon."

Sam grimaces. He thinks about lying, he really does, but he swore to himself that he would be open with Dean. That's part of why he's avoided talking with his brother. He doesn't want to face what being honest will cost him.

In a low voice, he admits, "We weren't... taken."

"You better explain."

Sam's free hand clenches in his lap. "We're... He's..."

"Oh _hell_ no."

The silence is heavy, and Sam feels like he's waiting for a physical blow. He flinches when he hears a loud crash over the line. In the background, Bobby objects loudly.

"You did not fucking go off with another black-eyed son of a bitch. What the _hell_ is wrong with you? Are you trying to get yourself killed? They're prepping you for the damn Devil and you decide to walk on in with them?"

Sam realizes he's trembling; even though he tries to stop, he can't. "It's not like that," he whispers, unable to raise his voice. He remembers all too well how this fight went last time. He remembers how wrong he was. Dean is still on the right side of this argument, Sam tells himself. "I don't trust him, but—"

"No. You tell me _right now_ where the hell you are, and I'm going to get you if Cas doesn't get his feathery ass to you first."

Sam closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the steering wheel. "I can't, Dean."

"The hell you can't!" Dean's voice changes from angry to pleading. "Sammy, tell me where you are. Come to Bobby's. We need to talk. Ellen needs to see Jo. This is all kinds of fucked up. I was wrong about this splitting up thing, okay? I'm fucking admitting it."

Sam feels his lips twitch and isn't sure whether he wants to laugh or cry. "No, I think maybe you were right," he confesses. "When we're together we just... get so tangled up. The emotions and sense of, I don't know, familial duty? Face it, Dean — Dad screwed us up. We just keep putting family in front of everything else. We ignore what's better for the world. It's one deal after another and— We can't keep doing that. Right now, we really can't afford the distraction."

"And what _deal_ are you making right now?" Dean counters sharply. "I don't for a second believe you'd be stupid enough to just toss in with a demon after that bitch Ruby. Or are you—"

"No!" Sam protests quickly, heart pounding heavily against his chest with a surge of adrenaline. " _No,_ I wouldn't do that again." 

"Then what's _going on?_ "

Sam wraps an arm around his torso and feels like he's trying to hold himself together. He should have asked Bobby if Dean was around; he should have hung up as soon as Dean stole the phone. _I can't do this._ He isn't prepared for this argument.

"It's not a deal," he protests weakly. He realizes that might be a lie, even though there hasn't been a formal agreement. "He has motivations and... th-they make sense, Dean. I wasn't willing to accept it for weeks. But he's saved our asses and... I don't know. I _trust Jo._ "

" _Jo_ is okay with this?" Dean's tone is filled with utter disbelief. "Put her on the phone, damn it."

"She's not with me right now."

" _What?_ She's with that black-eyed bastard?"

"No. She's just in the store." Quietly, despite knowing the truth may be the final straw, he adds quietly, "It's red eyes."

His brother is quiet for a long, ominous pause. When Dean speaks, his tone is laced with something that may be anger or may be fear. Dean always has a hard time expressing one without the other. "A crossroads demon. And you expect me to believe there's no deal going on."

Sam smiles bitterly to himself, feeling like it's the only thing saving him from crying in despair. "I know you don't believe me. I know you cant' trust me. God, I'm sorry. I'm _so sorry_ I fucked us up like this." He bites back an inappropriate giggle. " _Jesus,_ how the hell can I fix this?"

"Come back," Dean insists, tone still low and tight with that indiscernible emotion."You come show me that you're okay and not some other demon's bitch. You turn to your _family_ with this. You get Jo, and you tell me where Cas can pick you up."

"I can't," Sam repeats, shaking his head. "I need to do this." It's getting harder to hold onto the phone; his fingers are numb, and he feels sick to his stomach.

"Don't you dare hang up!"

"I have to do this without you. This is _my fault,_ I need to fix this."

"Not alone!" Dean shouts. "You can't do this without me! The world' gonna go to shit! Splitting up was a goddamn stupid thing to do, okay? _I admit it_. And staying apart? Fucking worse idea."

"What's changed?" Sam asks wearily, not sure that he actually wants to know or if it's just a reflexive question.

His brother remains silent for a moment.

"I saw what happens, Sammy." Dean sounds deadly serious. "I got whammied into the future after our... that last conversation. It was all fucked, man. Cas was human and doped, I was— The world was in _ruins._ And..."

Sam forces a "What?" past the lump in his throat.

"You said yes, Sam."

His fingers clench, and his whole body shudders. _You will say yes to me. It always had to be you._

"No," Sam whispers. "Never. I _won't_."

"We _need_ each other, Sam!"

"No."

 

\- - -

 

As soon as Jo catches sight of Sam's hunched form in the car, she lets go of her cart. She sprints around to the driver's side, nearly slamming into the door. She scrambles for the handle and yanks, immeasurably relieved that it opens and she can reach in to touch Sam. He's shaking so hard it looks like he's seizing and sweat runs thick enough to flatten his hair against his face. She manages to pull him away from the steering wheel. His eyes are squeezed shut. He shudders under her hands but seems to relax just enough to lean into her when Jo tugs him into an awkward embrace.

"Jesus Christ, Sam, _what the hell?_ " Her heart feels like it's trying to escape through her throat. She looks around quickly, but miraculously no one seems to be close enough to stare at them. She looks down at the man in her arms and presses her fingers tight against his arm and shoulder. "Sam. Sam, I need you to talk to me. _Damn it,_ tell me what happened."

Sam shakes his head against her chest, a quiet sob breaking free. He gasps, "No, I swear I won't."

Jo feels him suddenly go limp. Slowly his shaking reduces to infrequent tremors. He leans heavily against her as his gasps settle into something vaguely normal.

"Sam?" she asks cautiously.

His shoulders tense for a moment, then loosen as if too worn out to keep it up. "Jo?" His voice comes out hoarsely.

"Gave me a hell of a scare, Winchester," she admonishes. "Jesus." She moves a hand to his sweaty hair and combs her fingers through it. "What is going on?"

Sam shakes his head slowly, but this time it looks deliberate. "Please... I just..."

"You're not driving," Jo tells him firmly. She swallows the questions she wants to demand. It'll have to wait; they shouldn't be out in the open like this where they're likely to draw attention. She casts another careful look around. "Come on. Up and out. We load up the groceries then head back."

"I'm not sure..." Sam murmurs as he leans away from Jo. He shudders as he moves his legs out the car. Jo feels wound so tight that she's afraid what will happen when she lets go.

"Come on," she encourages. She steadies Sam with a firm hand on his upper arm. "We need to get going."

Sam laughs quietly, a wet, depressing sound. "Crowley will worry?"

Jo shrugs one shoulder. "I don't know." She thinks that maybe he might. "We'll find out."

Sam closes his eyes and turns his face away, looking pained. "We're being stupid, aren't we?"

Jo grips Sam's chin and forces him to look at her. She glares fiercely into his lost gaze. "You trust me?" He nods awkwardly in her tight hold. "Good. And I trust _you._ We're going to work from there. You and me make a good team, right? I don't care what the hell Dean might've said to you. We're gonna prove we got this. _No one's_ gonna make us do what we don't want. It's our choice alone, got it?"

There is a flicker of something uncertain and surprised that crosses Sam's expression. His gaze shifts, going distant as he murmurs, "He let me decide."

Jo nods slowly. That was the same thing she realized back in the barn with Crowley. She lets go as Sam shakes his head in disbelief.

"Alright," she says quietly. She lightly slaps Sam's arm and steps away. "Help me with the groceries, and we'll get going."

 

\- - -

 

Sam helps move their purchases inside, then wanders upstairs. Jo lets him go with a lingering look. She listens to his footsteps slowly tread along the upstairs hall and the closing of the bedroom door. She isn't sure whether she wants him to sleep or not; she isn't naive, she knows that his rest will be interrupted. The nightmares may be another strike that wears Sam down. He doesn't need more pressure on his already taxed system.

Jo sucks in a bracing breath as she hauls the groceries into the kitchen. Crowley is leaning against the counter as she comes in, a tumbler of something dark in his hand. He arches an eyebrow at her. "The giant off to let you do the cooking? Wouldn't figure you for the housewife type, love."

Jo snorts at that and purposefully bumps into the demon as she puts the bags on the counter. "Hardly. And you do realize we're not involved?"

"So you've said." Crowley shifts over just slightly as Jo begins unpacking the bags. "You took your sweet time."

"Pardon our mortal needs," she replies sarcastically. "It takes a little time to drive around and pick up human type things when we're starting out with little more than the clothes on our backs."

"I fed you," Crowley argues with a scowl.

"Yes, and now we can feed ourselves, thanks." Jo opens the refrigerator and checks it suspiciously for any mold or something unsavory. Like the last time she checked, everything is clear. The demon had indeed made sure that the kitchen is serviceable for the hunters. Quietly, she mutters a more sincere thanks.

Crowley ignores it. "What's split you and Moose?"

Jo continues unpacking the bags, but her movements turn jerky as she feels herself tense. She remembers Sam shuddering in the car and his dazed but insistent, _No._

"Can you do anything about the dreams?" she asks instead of answering. She doesn't look directly at Crowley, but she notices him pause with his glass halfway to his lips.

"You mean Satan's dream-walking," the demon clarifies.

Jo nods. She crumples the edge of the bag she's holding. "He's... I think he needs a break."

The demon chuckles, but it isn't a pleased sound. "Don't we all, sweetheart," he says. "No, love, there's not a thing to do here."

Jo turns to look at the demon more closely. She studies his expression as he takes another drink. "I think you would, if you could," she observes.

He makes a face and looks at her askance. "Awful fond of projecting benevolence on me, aren't you?"

She shrugs and returns to the groceries. "You're still an enigma, don't worry. You don't conform to what I'd expect of a demon just trying to save his ass, though."

"You don't know much about me, sweetheart. Don't forget what I am."

"I thought that'd be the point of getting us to work with you." Jo crosses her arms and faces him. "You know how damn hard it is for Sam to try trusting another _demon,_ even if it's just to get a leg up on this mess? You don't want him to associate you with the rest of your kind."

"I am what I am, I'm not ashamed," Crowley sneers. "Are you ashamed of your status as a pathetic meatsuit?"

Jo bares her teeth with her smirk. She knows by now not to get roped too far into what the demon throws at her. "I think I'd be a fine catch if one of you sorry bastards could get back in." Her cheeks hurt with the effort of maintaining her smile; the memories of Meg's brief possession, still fresh in her mind, haunt her. "You can't think me _that_ worthless if you've included me in your plans."

Crowley's eyes narrow, but he tips his head in acknowledgment.

They hear the thump of boots on the floor upstairs. Jo's gaze strays upward, and she waits to hear if anything else follows. When nothing does, she lets herself relax a little. Her heart continues beating a little fast. Sam had been in a low place on their way back. 

When she focuses on Crowley again, she finds that he's set aside his drink and has been looking her over. "Call didn't go well, I take it?"

Jo clenches her jaw. She doesn't want to invade Sam's privacy when his agreement in this partnership is still reluctant. However, she fears not being enough to keep him safe. "No, I don't think it did," she admits.

Crowley frowns. "Talked to brother dearest, then."

"I guess." Jo shrugs. Her gaze drops, and she frowns contemplatively at her feet.

"You realize he'll just be back. Lucifer isn't about to let his vessel up and die."

Jo flinches as she blinks back the sudden sting of tears. She glares at Crowley and snaps, "That doesn't mean he's expendable!" The demon merely stares at her, expression cool. Jo realizes she's shaking. "That..." She clears her throat and continues, "That doesn't mean it's okay to just let him commit _suicide._ "

"If he really wants to, who are you to stop him?" Crowley asks bluntly, no hint of accusation in his words.

Jo snarls and throws herself at the demon. She fists her hands in the lapels of his stupid, expensive suit jacket and yanks him close. "If you want our help, you'd better start showing you care about more than your own hide!"

Unintimidated, Crowley flashes his teeth at her. "You know my motives are hardly pure, love."

Jo tries to shake him, only partially successful. She leans close to his face as she accuses, "There's something in you that cares about more than the endgame. I don't know what it is, and I don't know that I can trust it, but you can't tell me it's not there. You help me keep Sam safe or I will gank your ass! Maybe let Dean in on the fun."

"He was a creative son of a bitch," Crowley growls as his eyes narrow. "Let me go, love." When she doesn't immediately release him, Crowley pries himself free from her grip. Oddly, he doesn't immediately let go of her fingers. His gaze locks with Jo's. " _Fine._ Moose won't die on my watch." The corner of his eye twitches. "Doesn't mean I can prevent him from trying."

Jo swallows the lump in her throat, nodding jerkily. She pulls her hands free and steps back. "Yeah. I know." She stares blankly at the remaining groceries.

"Go the fuck to sleep." Crowley gestures sharply to the door. "You're likely to collapse standing here." He grumbles under his breath, "Humans."

Jo ignores the comment and turns away. Her body feels weak as she walks to the stairs. She feels numb as she slowly ascends to the second floor. She has a room of her own, but she finds her feet leading her to Sam. She hesitates outside the door before opening it slowly.

The late afternoon sun sneaks a few rays through the blacked-out window and sigils covering it. The light is enough to see Sam laying on the bed, curled in on himself with his back against the wall. Jo steps inside, but his eyes remain closed. He's breathing steadily, and Jo suspects he collapsed from exhaustion. She stands still for a few minutes, undecided.

Eventually she continues forward and sits at the edge of the mattress. Sam makes a small noise but remains asleep. Jo unties her boots and slips her feet free. She pauses again, chewing on her lip as she studies Sam's still too thin face.

With a silent sigh, Jo lays down facing Sam. She pulls the thick blanket over them and tucks her arms up close to her chest. She watches Sam through half-lidded eyes. Her heart feels heavy as she watches a distressed expression cross his features. She wonders how long they'll be able to sleep before the nightmares wake him.

As her eyes fall shut, Jo reaches out to rest her hand over Sam's twitching fingers. She hums a half-forgotten childhood song as she drifts off.


	5. welcome to the freakshow

"You do seem to prefer blondes." Lucifer's smile is strangely half-hearted as he indicates Jo's sleeping form. An open book rests against her chest as she lays on the couch, clearly having fallen asleep in the middle of researching.

"Or have your tastes changed?" Lucifer's next movement directs Sam's attention to Crowley, who is leaning against one of the sigil-covered windows in the room. The demon drinks from a tumbler full of a dark liquid that reminds Sam of blood, though it looks too thin to be that. Crowley glances at Jo, frowns, and looks back to the window.

Lucifer sighs, crossing his arms. "Disappointing, but not surprising," he remarks, gaze locked on the King of the Crossroads. "Never underestimate half-breeds." He glances sidelong at Sam with a smirk. "Don't you agree, Sam?"

Sam feels like he's missing the joke. He understands the reference to himself, what with the taint of demon blood running through his veins. But does Lucifer consider Crowley a half-breed because he's not a run-of-the-mill demon?

Lucifer chuckles and shakes his head at Sam's confusion. "You have interesting companions, Sam. I'll give you that." The Devil inclines his head, expression losing its amusement. "The longer you deny me, the worse it will be for them. Tell me where you are, Sam. Consent and I promise you I will keep them safe." He nods to Crowley and Jo. "Tell me now, and I'll include Jo's mother and your surrogate father."

"And Dean?" Sam asks bitterly.

Lucifer looks genuinely regretful as he shakes his head. "I cannot control what my brother does. You understand how it is. Dean is beyond my ability to protect." Lucifer uncrosses his arms and extends a hand to Sam. "Come, why further delay the inevitable?"

Sam steps away quickly, hands fisting at his sides. "No. I will _never_ consent. You can't have me."

The corner of Lucifer's lips twitch up on one side. "I wouldn't have you any other way, Sam, but you are damn stubborn." His hand drops back to his side, and he looks around with a sigh. "Time's ticking, Sammy. Consider my offer, it's not indefinite."

The Devil snaps his fingers, and an inferno engulfs the room. Crowley's drink crashes to the ground. Jo comes awake with a shout. Their screams follow Sam into the waking world.

 

\- - -

 

Jo braces herself as she raises the phone to her ear and waits for the call to connect. She's put off talking with her mom for too long, she knows, but the aftermath of Sam's phone call has left her feeling drained by association. Eventually, just as she expects she'll be sent to voice mail, Ellen picks up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Mom." Jo leans forward on the couch, bracing her elbows on her knees.

"Joanna Beth, why am I hearing about you running around with a demon?" Ellen's voice is hard. "And why the _hell_ didn't you call earlier to let me know you were alright?"

"Sorry..." Jo flinches. "We've been sorting some things out, and I didn't have a new phone at first."

"And the _demon?_ "

Jo runs her free hand through her hair. "Yeah... that..." She hesitates. "I was working out how to tell you."

"How long?" Ellen's voice doesn't give away her thoughts, and Jo isn't sure what to expect.

"A few weeks." Jo chances giving a vague answer. "We weren't exactly keen on getting involved with the guy. But he's saved our butts and contributed quite a bit so far."

"Don't mean it's anything but an idiotic idea to throw in with the creature!" Ellen retorts. "I want you to _out_ of there. If Sam doesn't come, well, damn it. Just get out of there, and we'll go _together_ to bring him back."

Jo grimaces. "Look, Mom... We're not going to walk out of this. We're here by our own free will. And if anyone was likely to stay, it'd be me. I, um, came around to the idea a while before Sam did."

There's a long pause as Ellen takes that in. Jo hears a barely audible, incredulous _"What?"_

"I'm not being a dumbass," Jo defends. "I don't exactly trust the guy, but I've kept an eye on what he's done and been looking for slip-ups. He's on the level, his reasons are selfish but legitimate. We can work with him, at least for now. I won't turn my back on him. We should look at _all_ our options. We're already pretty limited."

"And you turn to a _demon?"_ Ellen's voice rises. "Let me remind you that there are perfectly acceptable, _trustworthy_ , and damn good hunters out here waiting for you and that idiot Winchester to turn up on our doorstep. We need to be in this together, yet you're still off who knows where! And apparently making allies of _enemies,_ at that!"

"I know it's not ideal—"

"No, I'm not talking about 'ideal!' I want you to get back here and drag Sam with you. Knock him out if you have to, I don't care! But this lone wolf thing is _over_. I let you off easy before. Sam and Dean needed their distance, but this is ridiculous! We're making no progress in stopping this damned Apocalypse. Cities are falling, Jo, and we can't keep up with all the news. We need to be _united._ "

Jo presses her hand over her closed eyes as she takes a deep breath. "I gotta see this through, Mom," she says quietly. "I know you're gonna be furious. Hell, I've questioned my sanity a time or two, but I feel like this is what I need to do. Me and Sam... we found where we need to be on this. We can't meet up with you right now, but I know we will. Just... we _need_ to get this thing with Crowley cleared up, and Sam needs to—"

"You're talking crazy, you know that?" Ellen interrupts, voice laced with anger and worry. "We can't get a lead on you! What the hell are you doing?"

"Remember that possession I told you about? Remember Castiel tracking us? Not good news, Mom. Everyone's after Sam. Anyone could track him through me. So we're warded. Had some help with that and—" she glances around the heavily warded room "—I half wonder if Crowley's gone overboard. But it's good to know it's working."

Ellen mutters a curse. " _No._ I won't let you do this!"

In response, Jo laughs involuntarily. "What are you going to do? I'm sorry you feel like you have to order me, but I've made my choice, Mom. I've got to do this, and I don't know when I'll be back. Just... have faith that I _am_ going to come back to you."

"No, _god damn it._ You've got some fool notion in your head from the Winchester crazy. I'm not going to lose—"

"It's not the same," Jo says, firm yet gentle. "I'm not Dad, and Sam isn't his father. This is _my_ choice. You taught me good, Mom. Have faith in yourself, and me."

Ellen makes a pained sound. "Don't _do this_ to me, baby..."

"I'm sorry." Jo swallows hard and rubs her fingers over her eyes. "But you're not changing my mind."

"The world's gone to shit, and you won't let me watch your back..." Ellen inhales a shuddering breath. "How can you do this to me?"

Jo hangs her head. Her chest feels too tight, and her breath hitches. "Mom..." she whispers.

"You tell those sons of bitches that if _anything_ happens to you, they're worse than dead," Ellen threatens, tone hard and fierce. She sounds more serious that Jo has ever heard her. "I ain't gonna stop looking for you. I don't care if you're not ready to get back here, I'm not letting you just wander on your own."

Jo decides not to argue. She doubts that her mom's searching will do any good, anyway. She releases a quiet sigh. "Okay."

" _Damn it,_ Jo..." Ellen trails off, and Jo feels a sharp pang of guilt as she hears the stifled sound of her mother crying. "I love you, baby."

"I love you, Mom," Jo echoes. "I... I'll call again tomorrow, okay?"

When they disconnect, Jo lets her herself slump forward. She stares wearily at her hands hanging between her knees. She wonders if she really is doing the right thing — sticking with Sam and making agreements with a demon and avoiding going back to friends and family she knows she can fully trust.

"You don't have to stay." Sam's quiet voice startles Jo out of her thoughts. She looks up and sees him lingering awkwardly in the doorway. He doesn't meet her gaze. "I think you should get back to Ellen. She's got to be frantic."

Jo's lips press together in a tight line as she glares fiercely at Sam. After a moment, she snaps, "You don't get to tell me what to do. I'm not going and don't you _dare_ try suggesting that again." Sam's eyes widen in surprise. "This is my decision, and I'm going to see it through."

He nods slowly. "Okay... Um, sorry."

Jo sighs to herself and sticks her phone in her pocket. "Whatever, don't worry about it. Let's find your old trickster buddy."

Sam grimaces. "Not sure he's buddy material, but..."

She waves tiredly. "Yeah, the whole team against-the-Apocalypse thing we've got going. It's a good idea, Sam, can you please trust yourself in this?" She's so tired of being the only one with any faith in him.

He gives her a small wavering smile. "I'll give it a try."

Jo nods firmly. "Otherwise I'll kick your butt."

His smile turns a little more genuine, and Jo feels a slight easing of tension. They're a mess, but they're making it work. Hopefully she'll be able to explain that to her mom in a way that Ellen will understand and accept, someday.

 

\- - -

 

Sam eyes the little smoking cauldron set on a table in the empty upstairs room. Crowley upends a phial of yellow ooze that smells vile enough to make the hunters gag. The demon rolls his eyes at the reaction.

"I don't want to know what that is, do I?" Jo asks rhetorically as she covers her nose and mouth with her hand. Sam is barely resisting the temptation to do the same. He isn't sure how this smells ten times worse than burning corpses.

"Quit your whinging. You, step back," Crowley orders Jo. He instructs Sam next. "Pick up that map — just hold it, _not yet_ ," he snaps when Sam lifts the folded road map with a long tweezers and starts to move it towards the cauldron. "Christ on a crutch, don't know what you're doing and you're still barreling in."

"Then tell me," Sam retorts, not backing down from Crowley's glare. 

The demon curls his lip in irritation. "Think _very hard_ about your trickster. Every detail about it. Empty that cro-magnon skull of yours of everything else. Concentrate and _only when you're ready_ , submerge the map. It only takes a few seconds."

Sam fixes the demon with an unimpressed stare. "You could have told me that twenty minutes ago."

"Just do it!"

When Sam looks over, Jo just shrugs and moves further away to lean against the wall. Even Crowley steps back, as if to remove another distraction. Sam closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He doesn't immediately focus in on the details, knowing he has to let himself travel through the memories of Crawford Hall and the nightmare of a hundred Tuesdays. It takes a while to work through the tight pain in his chest when thinking of his brother. Sam reminds himself of the power the trickster displayed and why it's worth trying to get the demigod on their side.

Sam's thoughts narrow in focus, drawing on his memories of six months spent stalking the trickster. He doesn't think about why it had happened, instead remembering the types of candy the trickster favored; the deadly pranks drawn from _Weekly World News_ ; the kinds of people still standing after the tricks ended; the trickster's favored form with amber eyes sometimes ringed in gold.

"That does it." Crowley's voice startles Sam back to the present, and he opens his eyes. The demon grabs his hand and lifts up. Sam hadn't realized he already dunked the map.

Jo returns to the center of the room and looks at the now darkened map. "This is going to do what, exactly?"

"Open it," Crowley orders. Sam expects the paper to be wet when he touches it, but it's nearly dry, making it surprisingly easy to unfold. Jo helps him hold the edges so that they can see the map of the USA barely visible in its blackened state — except for a bright area around part of Ohio. "You're in luck, he's in the States."

Sam folds the map to focus in on the part still visible. "This is still a pretty big—" he's cut off when Crowley yanks the paper down.

"State map." The demon hands over an Ohio map. Sam isn't sure where it came from.

Ten minutes later, Sam and Jo are looking at the little clear spot around Wellington, Ohio. "No telling how long he'll stay," Sam says.

"Then you better get going." Crowley is gathering up the spell accoutrements from the table. When he notices the hunters watching him, he looks up with a cocked eyebrow. "Your errand, _you_ deal with it."

Sam shakes his head but can't say he's particularly upset to leave Crowley behind. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to bring a demon along. Sam has the suspicion that the Trickster's lesson years ago had been about getting Sam _off_ the path of demon blood and the events that followed.

 

\- - -

 

Jo's thoughts are a little fuzzy, but she knows she'd been standing next to Sam in the middle of an abandoned warehouse. Now she's standing in what looks like the living room of a log cabin.

"Sam?" she calls. 

She makes her way around the couch and peers down the short hallway. Opening the first door she sees, she flicks on the light and looks around. Nothing of interest stands out, so she moves to the next door. Although the room is dim, she realizes that she can see a muted light coming from one of the walls. Stepping into the room, she finds that what should be the vanity mirror actually looks into the bedroom next door.

Jo finds a third bedroom and a small bathroom before wandering back to the living room. "Where's Sam?" she demands, suspecting someone is spying on her. She glares at the room, seeking out inconsistencies. "Trickster, right? What is this?"

The floor creaks and behind the couch she notices that a trapdoor has opened. Jo frowns at it and shakes her head. Looking around again, she realizes that there's something familiar about the cabin. Casting a scowl at the trapdoor, she turns for the front door and marches outside.

Instead of the expected forest, she steps into what looks like the bullpen of a police station. Someone bumps into her with a dismissive "Sorry" as he continues past, engrossed in an open manila folder. Jo steps out of what seems to be the busiest part of the aisle and looks back where the cabin door should be. Instead, there is a double set of glass-paned doors.

"Hey, sweetheart. Get us a cup of joe, eh?"

She turns toward the voice coming from a nearby desk and frowns at the man looking at her impatiently.

"Excuse me?"

"Coffee, sweet cheeks. You know, the lifeblood of this place?" He holds up his empty mug and wiggles it in her direction. "Hurry up."

"Get your own damn coffee." Jo turns on her heel. She ignores the protest he makes involving a fair amount of disparaging commentary. She crosses the bullpen, looking for an empty desk that has a free phone. A few people who are not thoroughly engrossed in their work look at her askance.

Jo finds what she wants just as a hand lands on her shoulder. She's ready to snap about crossing personal boundaries, but when she whirls around, she lets out a sigh of relief. "Sam. Thank goodness." She snorts a laugh when she sees his suit and tie. The shirt is pin-striped, and his tie has a garish pattern that doesn't fit at all with the brown suit coat. "What are you _wearing?"_

Sam grimaces as he glances down at himself. "Not my choice." He removes his hand and gestures at Jo. "Nice getup."

Having not noticed earlier, Jo looks down at herself and feels her eyebrows climb high in surprise. She's wearing a pale, pink blouse covered with a cream-colored cardigan; a pair of tan dress slacks cover her legs. None of it is like anything she'd choose to wear.

"What's going on?" she asks, plucking at the pressed pleats — pleats! — of her pants in disgust.

"It's a game," Sam explains, looking decidedly unhappy. He looks around the office. "I should've expected he wouldn't just talk to us."

"Alright, so what's the point of his game?" Jo asks. She wishes Crowley had come with them, maybe he could have helped them avoid this situation.

Sam shrugs helplessly. "Who knows. Let's get out of here."

As they head back towards the double doors, Jo asks, "Were you in a cabin?"

Sam shakes his head, frowning slightly. "No. It was... I don't know. This creepy wax museum or something." He shivers visibly. "Gave me the creeps."

Jo snickers. "You hunt monsters for a living but a wax museum unsettles you?"

"Have you heard Bobby's story about the hunt at Madame Tussauds?"

Jo shivers this time. "Right."

"Exactly."

This time they do not appear to teleport anywhere. Beyond the doors they find a precinct hallway. Sam points to the exit leading outside, and they make their way down the front steps.

A few paces down the sidewalk, they end up in a dark courtyard in the middle of what looks like a school. Sam stops abruptly and frowns at their change of clothes. Jo arches an eyebrow at his long black leather coat. Her clothing at least is more to her liking, though the band logo on her shirt is only vaguely familiar.

"Dingoes Ate My Baby?" Sam reads aloud.

"I know that name," Jo mutters to herself. She turns around to get a full look at the building around them, then grimaces as something pokes her in the back. "What the hell?" Reaching behind her, she grabs hold of what turns out to be a wooden stake.

"Oh god," Sam groans. "This is—"

"Buffy the Vampire Slayer," Jo echoes with him.

A door on the second floor walkway bursts open, and a hapless high school student runs out, screaming shrilly. Hunter instincts kick in, and Jo dashes for the stairs. The teen nearly collides with her, but Jo dodges in time and keeps moving forward. Ahead, the door opens again and a pair of contorted-face vampires appear, mouths open to bare their fangs.

"Hey assholes." Jo takes pleasure in charging forward and slamming the stake straight through the first vampire's heart. It's even more satisfying to see the thing explode in a burst of ash. 

The second vampire takes a hasty step back. "Who the hell's the new girl?"

Jo refuses to engage in a Buffy-style witty repartee, instead going straight for the kill. The vampire manages to avoid her blows for a minute, but he is too uncoordinated to last long. A dodged punch and well-aimed stake later, Jo is covered with an additional layer of ash.

"That looked easier than normal," Sam remarks. Jo looks at him as she coughs on vampire remains that fall from her hair.

"I don't remember—" Jo brushes herself off and spits out some of the ash that got into her mouth "—did they ever choke on the dust devils?"

Sam chuckles. "I don't know. I only saw a few episodes." He looks at the door over Jo's shoulder. "Think we can make it to the library? I seem to remember that mentor guy had good resources."

"Worth a look," she agrees with a shrug.

Jo takes the lead, navigating the hall with an ease she hadn't expected. The library light is on and pushing through the swinging doors is a little surreal. "This is really what it looked like on the show," she tells Sam, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Who is it?" a voice calls sharply from the office behind the checkout desk. "I thought I told you to go ho— Oh." Jo and Sam stare at the man eyeing them unhappily from the other side of the counter.

"Uh... hi," Jo greets.

"I asked you not to bring your..." the librarian, Giles, makes a gesture at Sam, gaze cutting sharply to the tall man for a moment, " _friend_ here. I will stake him."

"What?" Sam asks.

Jo instinctively moves in front of Sam. "Whoa, let's have a discussion here before trying to kill anyone."

Giles' lips press into a tight, unhappy line as his gaze meets Jo's. "We've discussed this enough. You know my stance on the matter, and I am not changing my mind."

Jo tries to remember if this is a familiar scene from the show or if it's a new scenario the trickster has created. "I honestly don't remember having any conversation with you."

Giles makes an exasperated sound, but before he can say anything, a pair of familiar teens come through the doors.

"I'm just saying—" Xander rolls his eyes as soon as he catches sight of Sam and Jo. "Oh look, it's Fangs and his new BFF."

Willow elbows Xander in the side and gives Jo a weak smile. "So... does this mean you need some help?"

Jo and Sam exchange a look. He admits, "I'm feeling a little lost..."

"There's a map section somewhere in here. I think. Willow must know," Xander quips.

Willow looks up at Sam with a frown. "I wouldn't think that vampires could get concussions."

"Whoa, vampire?" Sam exclaims, immediately prodding at his mouth. The three characters exchange skeptical glances. Jo watches Sam, feeling a little anxious. He shakes his head and lowers his hands. "I'm _not,_ " he says. "What the hell?"

"Sure you are, buddy." Xander shakes his head with a laugh. "What else do you call a blood-sucker?"

Jo can tell that strikes a nerve as Sam tenses beside her. Deciding that the library has gotten overcrowded, she grabs Sam's wrist and begins leading him around the high-schoolers. "Let's go, Sam."

"Oh come on, don't leave now."

Jo stumbles to a halt as Sam stops abruptly. She turns and notes that Giles and Willow have disappeared. Xander leans against the counter with crossed arms, wearing an exaggerated pout.

Sam slips his wrist free of Jo's grip as he turns to fully face what must be the Trickster. "What are you playing at?" Sam asks.

Xander's visage slips, leaving behind a man approximately Jo's height; he has auburn hair and unusual amber-colored eyes. His gaze is focused on Sam, as if Jo is hardly worth his notice.

"Ah, Sammy. Been a couple years, hasn't it?" Although the creature still wears a smile, there's something like disappointment in his eyes. "Never did learn your lesson."

Sam's hands fist at his sides. "We're here to talk."

The Trickster purses his lips and looks up as if considering that. After a few moments he looks back at them and says, "Nah. Not interested."

"Then let us go," Jo suggests.

The Trickster's attention turns to her and he smirks. "Oh no, I think there's another lesson to be learned here."

Sam sounds wary as he asks, "And what's that?"

The Trickster leans forward and spreads his arms with a grin. "You've a part to perform, Sammy boy. Time to play it!"

"Wait a minute—" Jo starts.

A moment later they're someplace new: a sandy beach with the smell of sea and fish in the air. The Trickster is gone, and Sam is wearing something out of Gilligan's Island. Jo looks down at herself and groans at the skimpy outfit just this side of decent. "I'm starting to hate this guy," she mutters.

Sam's expression is pinched as he looks around. "Yeah. I think he gets that a lot."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats if you realized the references for Jo's and Sam's first locations. Jo was in _Cabin in the Woods_ (no, it doesn't fit chronologically for when this takes place - shh!) and Sam was in _House of Wax_ \- which Jared acted in.
> 
> The police station was nothing in particular, but I did have a 70's setting in mind. Buffy was acknowledged straight out, and I'm not sure if the last scene really would end up as Gilligan's Island or not.


	6. how dare you speak of grace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a good bit of dialogue adapted from "Changing Channels" in this chapter.

Sam shields his eyes against the too bright sun and coughs from the smell of horse manure. He realizes after a moment that his skin is sticky with sweat and around his neck is a bandanna. He wears a knee-length duster coat and cowboy boots with honest-to-god spurs at the back. Upon further examination, he finds two pistols holstered at his hips. He looks around and realizes he's at the back of a two-story wooden building. 

A horse whinnies at his side and absently he pets its neck. "What the hell is going on?" he mutters.

He leaves the horse behind as he goes to the corner of the building and peers around its side. He sees a row of wooden buildings straight out of a damn western. A couple of riders on horses pass down the wide, dusty street. People dressed in old-timey clothes stand on the porch of a general store across the street.

The sound of music and ruckus laughter comes from the building to his right. Glancing around, he notes the symbol for a bank on the building he'd been behind. He turns away, making for the noisy saloon in hopes that Jo will be there.

When he first walks into the place, it seems like no one notices him. Sam scans the room, hoping to pick Jo out from the overcrowded space. However, the lighting isn't very good and smoke hangs thick in the air. He resists the urge to sneeze, the scents of too many bodies, drink, and smoke almost overwhelming. He thinks he seems a glint of long blond hair near the (currently empty) stage.

On his way, he accidentally knocks into the back of someone's chair. The poker player glares up at him with a sound of protest. Then he gets a good look at Sam and his expression turns cautious. The other men at the table shift uneasily as they eye Sam.

"Uh... sorry." Sam quickly excuses himself. As he moves on, he's more careful to watch where he's going. Regardless, he still draws attention. He notices more than a few people leaning in close to whisper to each other as their eyes follow him. He gets the feeling that he needs to find Jo and get out of here as soon as possible.

The woman he'd seen across the room isn't Jo. As he turns to make his way around a crowded table, he catches sight of Jo by the bar. She's behind the counter, staring crossly at a man leaning close. Her hair is curled and pulled out of her face by a fancy clip. Her collarbones and shoulders are bared by the wide swooping neckline of her dress. She looks ready to strangle the man in front of her, and Sam hurries his steps, forgoing politeness as he pushes through the crowd.

"Jo!" he calls when he thinks she'll hear him.

Her eyes dart aside to acknowledge Sam and some tension relaxes from her posture. When the man in front of her reaches out to touch her shoulder, she turns sharply and raises her hand to slap him across the face. The man stumbles off his stool and nearly brains himself on the counter as he loses his balance. Sam winces as he reaches the bar. He puts a hand on the man's arm to steady him. "I think you'd better take a walk," he tells the man.

"An' who d'you—" the man cuts off as his eyes go wide. He quickly scuttles away from Sam, almost tripping over another patron in his haste.

Sam and Jo watch him go with confusion. "What's that about?" she asks.

Feeling uneasy, Sam replies, "I'm not sure, but I think we need to get out of here."

Jo tugs up the lowered sleeves of her dress, then scowls when they fall back into place. She yanks a bit at the corset keeping her top from completely falling down. When Sam realizes he's staring, he quickly averts his gaze. Jo gives up on her clothes after several more attempts at adjustment. "Damn it, let's go." She boosts herself onto the counter, and Sam helps her over the bar as she works to move aside her layered skirt. Her boots knock against Sam's side, and he winces as he feels the sharp metal tips. "Sorry." 

When she hops down and notices his guns, she asks, "Have one for me?"

"You think we need to shoot our way out of here?" Sam leads the way through the crowd.

Jo shrugs as she hitches up her skirts so she can move more easily. Sam feels like the patrons take one look at him and move aside. He doesn't have a good feeling about this. "Can't hurt to be armed."

They exit the saloon's swinging doors and squint against the sunlight, which is almost blinding compared to the dim interior.

"What do we do, find a horse?" Jo asks sarcastically.

"I had one behind the bank." Jo shakes her head, but he sees a small smile on her lips. "I know... this is weird."

"That's one way to put it," Jo agrees.

They only make it a few more steps before a voice calls out, "Winchester!"

Jo and Sam exchange wary glances before turning around. In the middle of the street stands a man in a long tan duster with his hands on two holstered guns. His expression is hard, lips set in a grim line. Sam notes with a sinking feeling that a brass star gleams on the edge of the man's coat.

"Look," Sam says, "we're just heading out of town."

The lawman's eyes narrow, flicking momentarily to Jo and back to Sam. "Ain't running off with the Harvelle girl, Samuel. Your brother'd have something to say about that, rest his soul. Ain't you got no respect for the dead?"

Sam feels a sharp stab of fear. Even knowing that this is part of the Trickster's creation doesn't stop the pain and fear that Dean could be dead.

Jo moves closer to Sam, and he feels her hand slowly sliding aside the edge of his coat. "I think I can make my own choices, thanks," she retorts.

The lawman makes a sharp motion with his head, and several other men with guns step into the street. "Come away from him, Joanna. Yer Ma's waiting for you. We need to have a little 'chat' with Winchester here."

Jo's smile is predatory as her fingers close around the gun at Sam's side. "That right? I'd like to have a talk of my own with your boss."

The lawman shakes his head, expression exasperated. "Your brain's a might scrambled, I'm afraid. C'mon, girl, the tall, dark, an' mysterious don't lead nowhere good."

Jo draws the gun from its holster and aims it at the lawman. "We're leaving, and you won't be bothered by us again. Now, _back off._ "

Sam draws the other gun as the men in the street point their weapons. He mutters to Jo, "I'd rather not get into an old west shootout. Did you _have_ to antagonize them?"

Jo scoffs and steps aside to put a little more space for maneuverability between herself and Sam. "I don't think they'd listen to a girl without a gun in her hand."

"Don't be a fool, now!" The lawman's gaze darts between Sam and Jo. "Where you gonna turn? All the surroundin' towns know who you are an' are gunnin' for you. Settle this here an' Miss Harvelle can go on back to her mother."

Sam adjusts his aim slightly, ready to shoot for the lungs if it will stop the man from taking them out. "I think the lady told you that she's making her own decisions."

One of the men behind the lawman laughs mockingly. "Ain't no say to be had."

"Screw you," Jo snaps. She aims at the man and fires off two shots, hitting him in the shoulder and knocking him back.

The lawman fires and so does Sam. He doesn't see where he hits, too distracted by Jo's cry of surprise. Sam turns to steady her before she falls. Somewhere between turning to catch her and easing Jo to the ground, their surroundings change. The dirt-covered wooden boards they'd been standing on gives way to clean tiles. The smell of sweat, dust, and animal dung is exchanged for the chemical smell of antiseptic and plastic. For some reason, Jo is still wearing her Western get-up. She looks put out by that even as she presses a hand against her shoulder where blood is seeping between her fingers.

"How bad is it?" Sam asks, hovering uncertainly over her as he tries to keep an eye on their surroundings.

The sound of rushing feet mark the arrival of a trio of scrub-wearing nurses. They Sam out of the way, lift Jo from the floor, and settle her into a wheelchair.

"Doctor, you need to prep for surgery," someone says. It takes a moment for Sam to realize he's the one being addressed. He turns a bewildered look on the nurse, and she stares back at him impatiently. "Girl's got a bullet to get out, get a move on!"

"What?" Sam starts to ask, but someone is suddenly pushing him down the hall, and Jo is being wheeled along behind.

Less than ten minutes later, Jo is laying on an examination table with a drugged expression, eyes half-lidded. Sam stands over her with a pair of latex gloves and armed with a tray of medical tools. Jo's head lolls to the side, and she peers up at Sam with bleary focus. "You're not a doctor," she slurs. "Whatchu wearin'?"

Sam grimaces. "But I _am_ a hunter, kind of done this in worse conditions before." He manages to catch her gaze as he asks, "Do you trust me?"

Jo's lips turn up in a smile, and she says, more seriously than the moment calls for, "'Course I trust you..." She reaches out to pat his hip, which is closest to her hand, but grimaces when the movement tugs on her injury. "Damn that hurts."

"Hold on," Sam tells her and gets to work.

 

\- - -

 

Jo comes abruptly awake laying in a hammock, of all things, stretched between industrial-grade piping. The loud hum of machinery surrounds her. She sits up and has to steady herself as she tries to navigate the swing of the hammock while untangling herself from a blanket. Looking down at her clothes, she finds an unfamiliar olive green jumpsuit unzipped to show a pink shirt underneath. Her hair's pulled back, and reaching up, she feels the messy bun at the back of her head.

She swings her legs free and stands. A toolbox lays open next to a large generator that's making the loud hum. She takes the largest wrench she can find and crosses the cramped room to exit through an arched doorway.

"Now where am I?" She walks quietly along the metal-plated floor. 

Faint voices come from somewhere up ahead. "You need to calm down." Jo hurries forward and crouches down at the top of a narrow metal stairway. She has a partial view of the space below and catches sight of Sam. The unknown voice continues, "Sam, it's alright."

"Look," Sam sounds tired, "I'm just going to go find my friend and we'll be going."

Jo quickly descends the stairs, calling Sam's name as she approaches. His gaze darts to her and some of the tension in his shoulders eases.

"Jo, you're awake! How are you feeling?"

She stares blankly at the dark-haired man standing a few feet in front of her. He's pale as if he rarely sees sunlight, and his expression is almost earnest as his gaze runs over her. It seems like he's searching for injuries.

"I'm fine," she says. She shoots Sam a questioning look.

"I'd like to get out of here," he tells her quietly.

The stranger's eyes widen, and he steps forward with an outstretched hand. "Wait. That's not a good idea. It's too... Out there I think it'll be too much." The stranger turns a pleading expression to Jo. "Don't encourage him, please. You know it'll be too much stimuli."

"What are you talking about?" Jo arches an eyebrow. "We, uh, need to get the lay of the land. I'll be with him, it'll be fine."

"Please, even if you're not worried about yourself, think about how the Captain's going to come down on us if we disobey a direct order."

Sam shrugs at Jo and turns toward the nearest door from the room. She realizes as they cross into a new hall that she hasn't seen any windows and everything is made of metal. They pass through the narrow passage and then cross into an open, warehouse-type space; she gets the feeling that they may be on a boat.

Jo comes to an abrupt halt when Sam stops in front of her. She can't see around him to find out what caught his eye.

"You got in?" Sam sounds somewhere between relieved and frustrated.

Jo nudges him in the side so that she can step around him. She breathes a sigh of relief upon seeing Crowley. However, he isn't dressed in his usual expensive suit. The jacket and pants don't match, there's no tie, and a bowler hat sits askew on his head. Crowley looks grouchier than normal.

"You neglected to mention that your _pal_ packs more mojo than your typical trickster," Crowley says in way of greeting. "Next time call me in _before_ haring off to make contact."

"You're the one who left it up to us," Jo points out. She gives his hat a skeptical look. "Where'd that come from?"

Crowley looks down at his suit in disgust. He scowls and tips the hat back. "Breaking through your trickster's fantasy entails a few pitfalls."

"We haven't seen you before now," Sam says.

Crowley huffs in frustration. "You'd been gone over three days, and it took a bit to get in here."

"I really don't like this guy," Jo mutters. Sam nods wearily. "How do we get out of here?"

"If he shows his face again, we can stake him," Sam offers.

Crowley snorts. "I believe you said you've tried that in the past? But _by all means,_ go ahead and try again!"

"What do you suggest we do?" Sam snaps.

"Figure out what this fucker _is_!"

"He's not a trickster?" Jo asks, confused.

"Doubtful. Too powerful and this feels like—" the demon gets cut off as an invisible force sends him flying into a stack of crates.

"I don't appreciate party crashers," the Trickster calls from a walkway above them. Jo and Sam turn to watch as the Trickster (or whatever he is) swings himself onto a ladder and descends in a quick series of jumps.

The demigod stands facing the hunters with his hands on his hips, long brown coat swept back to reveal suspenders over a red shirt. A holstered gun rests on his hip. It takes Jo entirely too long to connect the outfit with their surroundings. She glances around quickly — cargo hold, check — and then down at her outfit.

"Are you a Whedon fan?" she asks incredulously. Sam glances around, then over at Jo with a look of confusion on his face. Jo arches an eyebrow at him. "Really? _Firefly_ doesn't ring a bell?"

The Trickster leans in and stage-whispers, "Clearly you shouldn't be friends."

"Look, you've had your fun. Isn't it time you let us get a word in?" Jo asks, shifting her grip on the wrench. Even if the thing won't kill the demigod, it'll hopefully still hurt.

The Trickster's amber eyes seem to spark with gold. "I don't think you get a say in this," he replies. "What are you doing tagging along with this mook, anyway? Have a death wish?"

Sam's body jerks as if struck by a physical blow. Jo hurls the wrench at the Trickster with a snarl. He lets it hit, but much to her disappointment, he barely flinches when it smacks against his temple. The Trickster wipes at the trickle of blood, and a moment later the cut is gone.

"Got that out of your system, or do I need to give you a tool box to dig around in?"

Jo clenches her jaw so tight that she's nearly grinding her teeth. "Let us out, asshole."

"Or what?" the Trickster mocks.

Crowley grunts and finally pulls himself off the floor. He actually looks a little dazed. His hat is gone, making it easy to see the dark bruise surrounded by scrapes on his forehead. The demon bares his teeth at the Trickster in what sounds like a hiss.

"Nice, kitty." The Trickster snaps his fingers, and a pair of pointed black ears and a cat tail appear on the demon.

" _Enough!_ " Crowley roars as he pulls a wooden stake from beneath his jacket.

_I thought he said that wouldn't work,_ Jo thinks with some exasperation.

The Trickster grins and spreads his arms, leaving his torso exposed. Crowley jumps into the creature's personal space, but instead of aiming for the heart, Crowley slams the stake down through the Trickster's foot.

"Motherfucker!" the exclamation is a mix of shock, anger, and pain.

The cargo bay of _Serenity_ flickers around them with static. Crowley moves away from the Trickster, expression grim as he draws shoulder to shoulder with Jo.

"What's that supposed to accomplish?" Sam mutters, eyeing the Trickster warily.

"Brace yourself," the demon tells them in a low tone. "If I'm wrong..."

After a few moments, it becomes apparent that there's something special about the stake. The Trickster tries lifting his foot but nearly loses his balance. He frowns and snaps his fingers. Nothing happens. He reaches down, but as soon as he touches the wood, red tendrils of light wrap around his fingers. He swears again, straightening up quickly. His glare turns to Crowley and his eyes burn gold.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he growls.

Crowley's expression relaxes. A smug smile slowly creeps across his lips. "Isn't this _interesting._ Time to drop the charade now, don't you think, Feathers?"

The creature's eyes narrow, but he snaps his fingers. The warehouse Jo remembers entering with Sam days ago forms around them. They're back in their own clothes, too. Sam's gaze darts between the two supernatural beings, something like disappointment filling his expression.

"Remove the stake and I might let you live, demon," the creature says. His Browncoat regalia is gone, replaced with jeans and a green jacket layered over a t-shirt. If not for the glowing eyes, he'd look fairly average.

"Remove the ears and tail, and I'll consider it," Crowley counters. With a snap, the cat features vanish. The demon takes a moment to pat himself down.

"Have time to listen now?" Jo prompts, crossing her arms and glaring at their captive audience.

Wearing a clearly irritated expression, the Trickster rolls his golden eyes. "Does it look like I'm going anywhere, honey?"

"Why's the stake holding him, Crowley?" Sam asks quietly. There's something about his expression that suggests he already has a guess.

"A special set of carved wards I've picked up over the centuries," Crowley answers calmly. "A trickster would have no problem removing that little splinter. I thought you Winchesters only hung out with the Angel of Thursday."

Sam's expression shutters as his stare fixes on the not-trickster's face. "So. Which one are you?" Sam asks, voice low. Jo recognizes the resignation lacing his tone. She feels a little numb herself, adjusting to the revelation that an angel is pinned to the floor in front of them.

The angel's face does an interesting dance of emotions before he settles on an expression of studied aloofness. His eyes don't burn as sharply as before when he meets Sam's gaze straight on. 

"Gabriel, okay? They call me Gabriel."

Jo feels her lips part in surprise. Sam makes a noise somewhere between appalled and disheartened. "Gabriel. The archangel?"

"Guilty." The angel offers a feigned bow and a sharp smirk.

"How the hell did you end up as a trickster?" Jo demands, feeling as if her head is spinning.

Gabriel's gaze darts to her. "Witness protection," he states. "I skipped out of Heaven, got a face transplant, carved out my own little corner of the world." His gaze returns to Sam, and his expression tightens with a scowl. "Was doing just fine 'til you and your brother fucked things up."

Jo asks, "What was all that... TV hell about?"

Gabriel keeps his stare locked with Sam's. "Sammy here needs to learn he's got a role to play. Here, in this so-called 'real world.' You know, the _big showstopper._ " He moves his arms like he's laying out a banner. "Sam starring as Lucifer! Dean starring as Michael!"

"You want them to say _yes_?" Crowley sounds appalled.

"We do that, the world ends," Sam points out.

Gabriel scoffs. "Yeah? And whose fault is that? Who ignored the warning signs, followed a demon, popped Lucifer out of the box? Look, it's started. _You_ started it. It can't be stopped, so let's get the show on the road!"

"Which side are you on?" Jo demands. Sam stands next to her, expression drawn and posture rigid, giving away how much the angel's accusation hurts.

Gabriel crosses his arms. "I'm not on either side."

"I find that hard to believe." Jo eyes him skeptically. "Come on, who's your favorite brother? Must be hard to pick between all the giant dicks."

"Shut your cake hole!" Gabriel snaps, eyes flaring gold again. "You don't know _anything_ about my family." It feels like the air pressure around them increases. "I love my Father, my siblings. _Love_ them. But watching them turn on each other? Tear each other's throats out? I couldn't bear it, I couldn't pick a side. _Okay?_ So I left. And now two screw-ups are making it happen all over again."

"So help us stop it!" Sam argues.

Gabriel abruptly looks drained. His arms fall to his sides and he shakes his head. "It can't be stopped."

"You want to see the end of the world?" Crowley asks scornfully.

A bit of heat returns to Gabriel's voice. "I want it to be over! I have to sit back and watch my own brothers kill each other. Heaven, Hell... I don't care who wins. I just want it to be _over_!"

Sam takes a step forward, expression tight but a note of pleading in his voice when he speaks. "It doesn't have to be like that. There has to be some way to pull the plug. _Help_ us!"

Gabriel laughs and it's a harsh sound, bitter and ancient. Jo holds back a shiver.

"There is no stopping this, you moron. This isn't about a _war_. It's about two brothers." His gaze fixes on Sam and there's something both resentful and pitying in his stare. "Two brothers who loved each other and betrayed each other." He waves a dismissive hand. "I'd think you'd be able to relate."

Jo's eyes narrow. Sam shakes his head slowly.

Gabriel releases another harsh laugh. "You sorry sons of bitches. Why do you think the two of you are _the_ Vessels? Think about it. Michael, the big brother, loyal to an absent father. And Lucifer, the little brother, rebellious of Daddy's plan." He snorts and shakes his head. "You were born to this. It's your fucking _Destiny_. As it is in Heaven, so it must be on Earth." His lips press into a thin line as he pauses. This time Jo is sure she recognizes pity in the angel's stare. "One brother has to kill the other."

"Fuck you," Jo whispers harshly. She gains the others' startled attention, but she only has eyes for Gabriel. She marches up close to him. "I call bullshit. The timeline was moved up on the Apocalypse because of your asshole brothers manipulating people. It wasn't _destined_ for Sam and Dean, and that means there's a way to stop it. Humans, we have a choice, isn't that what God's shtick is about?"

"Ever heard of reincarnation?" Gabriel responds blandly, apparently indifferent to Jo being close enough to step on his toes. "It's definitely been them all along. It's _always_ gonna end with them."

"Not this time," Sam says firmly.

Gabriel sighs and looks past Jo's shoulder. "I'm sorry, but it is." He shrugs halfheartedly. "Hey, I wish this was a TV show. Easy answers, ending wrapped up in a bow... but this is real and it's gonna end bloody for all of us. That's just how it's gotta be." 

Jo's hand moves before she thinks it through, and she slaps what feels like a steel wall. She bites back a noise of pain and quickly cradles her hand to her chest.

Gabriel stares at her in disbelief. "Why are you trying to break your hand?"

"You're a damn hypocrite," she accuses. "Oh boo-hoo, 'I can't take my brother's fighting, I don't want to see them kill each other.' Yet you seem perfectly happy to serve up their Vessels so that very thing can take place!"

Crowley suddenly speaks. "You're a bloody coward." Jo watches as Gabriel's gaze darts sharply to the demon, his eyes narrowing. "Can't even find a reason to care, can you."

"Who are you to talk?" Gabriel retorts. "Masquerading as—" He cuts off abruptly, frown deepening as his gaze roams over the demon. Jo glances back to see Crowley eyeing the angel warily and with a hint of confusion. "You don't even know, do you..." Gabriel mutters, shaking his head. He rolls his eyes and heaves a put-upon sigh. "Screw you guys and your freak show team. What's the plan? Stand here staring at each other until the God Squad and armies of Hell turn up?"

"No." Sam moves forward to stand at Jo's side. Gabriel looks unhappy about having to crane his neck to look up at the tall hunter. Sam's expression is shuttered as he stares down at the angel. "We're not like you." He crouches and cautiously touches the stake. Nothing happens, so he wraps his hand around it. He looks up at Gabriel. "You made your decision. I guess we're done here." He yanks the stake free and stands.

For a long moment, Sam and Gabriel stare at one another in silence. 

Sam is the one to turn and walk away. "Come on," he says quietly.

Jo presses her lips together tightly, holding back words she knows will be useless. She settles for giving Gabriel a disapproving glare before turning and following Sam. Crowley is already ahead of her. Sam doesn't look back as he pushes the door open and heads outside. Crowley glances back, directing a curious frown at the angel. Jo glances over her shoulder and is more than a little surprised to see that Gabriel is still standing there.

She shakes her head. There's nothing else to say. She touches the demon's arm briefly, directing him out the door. "We're done here," she says. She tries for a smile at Crowley's dramatic eye roll; it feels fragile and fake.

 

\- - -

 

Sam feels bone-weary. It's been several days since they walked out of the warehouse where they learned about the archangel-turned-trickster. He manages to make a call to Bobby, this time without the threat of Dean interrupting.

"You should tell Castiel we found one of his brothers," Sam says. Bobby makes an inquisitive noise on the other end of the line. Sam breathes an unhappy laugh. "Yeah. You remember the Trickster?"

"He's a _angel_?" Bobby asks, sounding skeptical. "How do you figure?"

"Given that staking the guy never did anything, and then sigils warding against angels pinned him down, well..." Sam scrubs a hand over his face. "Yeah. So you can tell Castiel that he isn't the only one running around rogue."

"And does this guy have anything to say about the world ending?" Bobby's tone suggests that he already knows the answer.

Sam grimaces to himself. "Play your roles, he said."

"Great. Did you kick him to the curb?"

"Left him behind. Waste of time."

Bobby heaves a sigh. "Sam, it wasn't a bad plan."

Sam smiles bitterly and leans back in his chair to stare up at the water-damaged ceiling of his current hotel room. "You sure about that? Don't tell me you're actually happy with my choice of companions."

"You best not let Ellen hear you talkin' about Jo like that."

"You know what I mean."

There's a long pause, and Sam imagines Bobby futzing with his cap as he ponders his words. Eventually the older hunter says, "I'm not _happy_ you've decided to run off without telling us where the hell you are, limiting yourself to help from a young hunter and a demon. But I trust you to tell me when you get in too deep, if you need a bailout."

"So you're just waiting for things to fall apart," Sam murmurs, disappointed even though he's unsurprised.

" _No,_ damn it. I mean, fine. I s'pose I expect things to get too crazy to have you off on your own 'til the end of the world. But I think the same with Dean. You and your brother are mule-headed bastards. You're off with your little party, he's off with some wingless, clueless angel for backup. Neither of you is willing to try reaching a middle ground to come back together. So yeah, I'm waiting for the call. Apparently I'm the only one anyone in the damn hunting world that everyone will talk to!"

Sam smiles slightly as he suggests, "It's your people skills."

Bobby swears at him and something thumps on the other end of the line.

Sam appreciates that Bobby lets the topic go. They don't linger on what is likely to devolve into an argument about what Sam should be doing instead of making friends with another demon. 

Sam tells himself that he's only working with Crowley out of necessity. He isn't befriending the demon. He barely likes Crowley. At least he _thinks_ so, his feelings are a little unclear. It's hard to turn his back on possible camaraderie, and it seems like Crowley and Jo get along well. He doubts any of their family or friends would be happy to hear about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I recall, I wrote the Western scene shortly after watching the old James Garner flick _Support Your Local Sheriff_ , but I didn't have any particular Western in mind.


	7. my heart was flawed i knew my weakness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could't find the official location for "My Bloody Valentine," so I did some estimating/looking around, and found the perfect place to put the events.
> 
> Various dialogue adapted from the episode.
> 
> Pretty sure this is the longest chapter.

"They're off on a hunt," Bobby tells Sam when he calls the next week to check in. "Not sure what it is."

Sam closes his eyes, tempted to tell Bobby to stop talking. He doesn't want to think about Dean going off with a significantly weakened Castiel. He doesn't want to question his decision to stay apart. He needs to stay away from the guilt threatening to suffocate him, but at the same time he wants to know what his brother is doing. He needs to make sure Dean is alright.

"It's a weird one, but I s'pose everything's a little crazy these days."

Sam hears someone enter the kitchen. He opens his eyes and sees Jo coming to join him. She glances pointedly at the phone. With a quiet sigh, Sam switches to speaker and sets the phone on the table.

"Who else 's there?" Bobby asks.

"Hey, Bobby," Jo greets as she sits across from Sam. A smile crosses her lips. "My mom's not going to come hollerin' and interrupt us, is she?"

"That woman's a menace," he grumbles, but Sam can tell it's with fondness. "She's off with Rufus. Everybody's off. Ain't no downtime during the end of the world."

"Is that a surprise?" Sam asks, lips twitching in a reluctant smile.

"Don't sass me. About that hunt of your brother's, there's a town with a rash of weird events. Some people's corpses are missing hearts. Lots of alcohol poisonings. There were some other strange deaths, too. Mix of signs but nothing that seems to have a real common thread that I can figure."

Sam chews on his lip as he considers the information. "Maybe... you could give me a little more to go on and I could check into it." He ignores Jo's knowing look. "Where are they headed?"

"Valentine, Nebraska," Bobby replies, and Sam can tell there's a bit of smugness in his tone. So what? Sam can help Dean from afar; he can still keep his distance.

Crowley appears in the doorway, aiming a scowl at the phone. "Oh joy, two clueless bastards are fumbling their way into Famine's hangout."

"What?" Sam demands, alarmed.

"That your demon pal?"

"Bobby, meet Crowley," Jo introduces distractedly. "Famine, as in the horseman?" she clarifies.

"One and the same, love." Crowley comes further into the kitchen and leans against the counter. His expression turns contemplative. "Just heard word 'bout his camp. Won't be a pretty picture."

"Dean and Castiel are out on their own?" Sam asks, unable to hide his worry.

"And who the hell would be with them?" Bobby returns sarcastically.

Sam grimaces at the accusing tone and averts his gaze, even though Bobby isn't there to stare him down.

"We could do backup," Jo offers quietly. Sam glances sidelong at her. "If you want."

Crowley groans. "You just can't make yourselves focus, can you?"

"And what're we accomplishing around here?" Jo responds with an eye roll. "The horsemen are a problem. Taking them out will help with shutting down the Apocalypse."

"Fine," the demon bites out. He glares at Sam. "You make sure your idiotic other half doesn't banish me and his wayward angel buddy doesn't smite me."

"You don't have to come," Sam says. He hardly expects the demon to stick his neck out any more than he already has. Crowley has surprised them with the number of times he's pulled Sam and Jo out of sticky situations, but he makes clear that his focus is on himself. The hunters are the exceptions to his self-centered world, if only from necessity, so Dean and Castiel aren't his concern.

"Don't be a numpty. Famine is a big player, and you're hardly in a position to face him alone."

"Sometimes I wonder why you ever bothered to invite us here," Jo mutters.

"So are you going or not?" Bobby asks impatiently.

Sam glances between Jo and Crowley. They meet his gaze with expectant expressions — although Crowley also looks irritated and impatient. "Y-yeah," Sam replies. Taking a deep breath to center himself, he focuses on the phone. "We'll be heading to Nebraska. But... could you maybe...?"

"Not let the cat out of the bag?" Bobby asks wryly.

"Yeah."

Sam can imagine Bobby's irritated expression. "You get a day of silence."

"At least wait and see if it comes up in conversation," Sam protests.

"Don't try to negotiate or I'm lowering the time frame to a goddamn hour," Bobby retorts.

"What the hell?"

Jo pushes back from the table and heads out of the room, probably to get their equipment ready. Crowley rolls his eyes but stays put.

"Who do you think's been dealing with your brother's moody fits? Fear, rage, disappointment, worry... he's worse'n a hormonal teenager. You two need to talk, and it's best done in person."

Sam thinks of a hotel room: broken glass, bloodied noses, and bruised knuckles. He resists the urge to shiver at the memory through force of will; he hates for Crowley to see him showing weakness.

"Not sure that's the best plan," Sam says quietly. Last time, the only time things had gotten this bad, had been over Ruby and Sam's choice to follow a demon rather than his family.

"Won't know til you try," Bobby counters, but his tone is more gentle. " _One day,_ then Dean's gonna get a tip that you're in town."

Sam winces, but it isn't enough to deter him from going after Famine. "Yeah. Fine."

Crowley straightens up and claps his hands together. "Good. That's settled, now get off the bloody phone and let's go."

"Fuck off."

Sam hurriedly waves Crowley away and reaches for his phone. "Going to head out. Bye, Bobby."

"Keep me in the loop, boy. Don't need to keep worrying about you falling off the face of the earth."

Crowley comes over and leans in close over Sam's shoulder. His smile is all teeth and his tone sugary sweet as he says, "I'll take good care of darling Moose, don't you worry, Papa Bear." The demon reaches out and hangs up the phone in the middle of Bobby sputtering a reply. The demon arches an eyebrow at Sam. "Are we going or what?"

 

\- - -

 

"Are you with the guys from earlier?" The morgue assistant squints at Sam suspiciously, and Sam hides a grimace. Crowley may have been right about it being a dumb idea to go in under the guise of an FBI agent; it's the Winchester MO.

"I heard someone had been by, but I was supposed to check it out myself," Sam answers, adopting the irritated expression of an overworked government agent. He hopes Jo's interview with the victim's roommate goes smoothly.

The assistant frowns at Sam and continues to eye him in silence. Just as Sam thinks about turning tail and making a quick exit, the guy shrugs and jerks a thumb at the door behind him. "Alright. Whatever squabble you've got going on, I don't care. We just want this case out of here." As he leads Sam into the much cooler air of the morgue drawers, he shudders. "These... I dunno. Is this some weird-ass cult thing? It gives me the damn willies."

"It's not exactly on my list of favorite cases," Sam commiserates.

"Yeah, well, I hope you haven't eaten recently." The assistant opens several drawers, revealing clear bins with sectioned remains. He makes a face. "There are these guys here. Over on this end," he draws Sam's attention to another pair of drawers, "are the ones who, er... apparently ate each other to death?"

"New meaning to 'eat me'?" Sam offers with a weak smile.

The assistant gives him an unimpressed look. "Heard that too many times already. You want the notes on these cases?"

Sam nods, hesitantly stepping closer to get a better look at the mangled bodies in the drawer. "Can you make me copies?"

The assistant seems about to refuse, but then he shakes his head and sighs. "What the hell. Maybe someone will figure this thing out with more eyes on the case." His gaze roams over the drawers. "Damn slaughterhouse around here lately."

"Thanks for for your help," Sam says in hopes of prompting the man to move along. He doesn't have a particular interest in examining the bodies himself; the reports will do just fine. He wants to get going and join up again with Jo and Crowley.

 

\- - -

 

Jo leaves the roommate of Rebecca Nguyen after somewhat successfully calming her down again. She doesn't blame the girl for freaking out over the memory of finding her dead, half-cannibalized roommate and the boyfriend. However, Jo also feels the press of time and doesn't want to spend any extra minutes on something that won't connect her to where she needs to be. She wants to solve this before Dean and his angel figure out they have competition. And when she checks in with Sam, she wants to have something to contribute.

At the bottom of the apartment building's steps, Crowley appears at her side with his hands in his pockets. "Interesting energy around town," he remarks as they walk down the street towards the hotel. "You get anything from the girl?"

Jo shrugs halfheartedly, fighting off a strange spike of irritation. "Possibly. There were a couple things the lovebirds did on their date night leading up to the... ah, ending they got." She straightens her shoulders. "I can see about some of the other cases, check if there's a link to one of the locations."

Crowley hums, and Jo looks over in time to catch him rolling his eyes. She stops walking and crosses her arms. Her jaw clenches tight in irritation as she glares at him. The demon stops a few feet away before turning back to her.

Upon seeing her glare, his eyes narrow slightly. He seems to hesitate before pulling a card from his pocket and holding it out for her. "Save yourself the trouble and take a look around here."

Jo takes the card, a sense of disappointment filling her that she hadn't found the answer herself. She knows she should be relieved that Crowley's saved her the leg work. The card shows the name of the restaurant Jack and Jill Cannibal visited for their date. Shaking off her conflicted feelings, Jo looks at Crowley and asks, "How do you figure?"

"Call it instinct, love," Crowley suggests. He brushes at his jacket sleeves, which look immaculate to Jo. "That said, I've other business to attend to. Ring in an emergency only."

Jo could point out that Crowley has very little business he can possibly get up to with a bounty on his head. She doesn't, though, suspecting that he doesn't want to hang around when he can sense other demons nearby. Coming into town, she had seen the tension in his shoulders sharpen and his gaze become more wary. He had commented on the distinct feel of demonic energy. Sam seems able to feel it, too. Jo doesn't notice anything in particular, just the usual air of something gone wrong when entering a place knowing full well about recent supernatural events.

If Crowley's away, Jo only has to compete against Sam to gather useful information. She isn't sure where that sentiment comes from, but it makes her voice sharp when she says, "Fine. Don't get yourself killed."

Crowley arches a disdainful eyebrow at her. "Same to you." He disappears without further warning, and Jo is left to finish the walk to the hotel alone.

 

\- - -

 

Sam's stomach cramps as he heads back to the hotel on foot. The first tendrils of hunger had started as soon as he stepped out of the car in Valentine. The air carries the smell of sulfur, and when the wind first picked up, he could almost taste...

He'd been able to push the longing back as he and Jo talked over their plans. Crowley had prowled around their motel room as if counting every minute flaw, his expression a mask of disgust.

The morgue had offered a distraction from the growing cravings, at least. However, now that he's finished and has the reports, his concentration slips, and he can feel the hunger pangs knotting in his gut. His throat itches, his skin itches, and it's all too familiar — like he used to feel when he went too long without Ruby's blood.

Sam swallows hard and rubs at his aching stomach. He crosses the street and nearly runs into a man walking at a brisk pace out of a corner market. The suit and briefcase don't fit in with this side of town, which is what first catches Sam's attention. Then it's as if he can _smell_ the demon.

Without a second thought, Sam follows the demon, hand going to Ruby's blade beneath his jacket. The demon makes a sharp turn into an alley, and Sam is too caught up in battling the hunger welling up inside him to realize that he's been spotted.

The briefcase swings directly into his chin when he turns the corner. The demon is strong and moves fast, but Sam still has a solid six inches on the demon. With the hunter's experience, the demon doesn't have a chance.

Sam slices the demon's arm. The sudden surge of desire as the blood wells up distracts Sam for a few moments. He can imagine the taste, and it makes his entire body tingle in anticipation. The demon uses the briefcase again, the flat side of it knocking hard into Sam's shoulder. He startles out of his daze and makes a quick move to disarm the demon. The briefcase collides with the alley wall. As it tumbles to the ground, the clasps give way and the case opens. The demon curses as a bright orb of light bursts through the gap and streaks skyward.

Sam reins in his surprise and starts the Latin for an exorcism. The demon's meatsuit twitches violently even as he tries to reach for Sam's neck. In moments, black smoke erupts from the body's mouth, and the demon is gone. The empty body collapses to the ground, not breathing.

Sam stares down at the still chest, then his eyes track to the arm where blood continues to slowly leak from the wound. He stares at his knife and swallows hard as he tilts the blade. He feels his lips part, and his tongue darts out to lick his lips. A thick drop of blood slides down the blade towards the grip. His stomach is filled with a hard knot of hunger, and he feels as if his body will shake apart if he doesn't bring the knife to his lips. With a boost, he might even be able to wrap up the hunt quickly. He could offer so much more: he could protect Jo; he wouldn't have to be afraid of Crowley betraying them because Sam could take him out. With a boost, he might be able to find a way to block Lucifer from his mind.

"Sam."

Jo's voice brings him crashing back to reality. As Sam stares at her with wide eyes, he feels guilt and fear twisting his desire into nausea.

_"You're a monster, Sam. One of the things we hunt."_

 

\- - -

 

Jo's almost back to the hotel when she catches movement from the alley she's passing. Jo reaches for her knife on instinct, fingers closing around the hilt as she tries to make out details of the man stumbling against the brick wall. She squints in the dim evening lighting, but even when she recognizes Sam, she doesn't relax. She hurries into the alley and keeps her knife free.

As she draws nearer, Jo realizes that Sam's staring at something in his hands, expression dazed. She calls his name and he doesn't respond. There's a body on the ground in front of him and an empty, open briefcase against the opposite wall.

"Sam?" Close up, she can see that his stare is fixed on his knife. His eyes seem more dilated than they should and his breath comes raggedly. The knife has blood on it, a thick trail slipping past the hilt guard and onto his skin. "Sam," she says firmly.

He startles and stares at her with wide eyes. He looks guilty and ashamed as soon as they make eye contact. He quickly tucks his hand behind his back and licks his lips nervously. "Jo. How'd it go?"

Jo looks from Sam to the body on the ground. "I think I'd rather know what happened here."

Sam licks his lips again as he stares down at the body. His pupils slowly return to normal as he focuses. "Demon," he says. "Carrying... I don't know. There was some kind of light, kind of... a bit like an orb? It was really bright. When we were fighting the case got knocked open."

Jo crouches down to check the body and notes the minimal blood. "Did you kill it?"

Sam shakes his head. "Held him back long enough for an exorcism, but the body dropped."

Jo glances around to see if there's anything they should take with them. "Let's clear out." She stands up and glances pointedly at Sam's poor attempt to hide his knife. "I'll tell you what Crowley suggested, and you can tell me what's up with that knife."

Sam's expression blanks, and he pales. His eyes turn downward, and he bobs his head in a short nod. Jo keeps a sigh to herself. She has a feeling that she knows what this is about. The earlier drive she felt to best Sam in their investigation seems to have disappeared, concern for her friend muting other distractions.

 

\- - -

 

Sam buys himself a little time by requesting a shower before they talk. He slips into the bathroom as soon as they enter their motel room, cutting off any opportunity for Jo to protest. He realizes only after he's closed the door that he still has the bloodied knife in his hand. Sam stares at it for a long time, memories of power he was able to wield forefront in his mind. Recently all he feels is weak and worthless. What can he do against the Devil himself? He is a human, and a flawed one at that.

_"Sam Winchester. The boy with the demon blood. Glad to hear you've... ceased your extracurricular activities."_

Sam grabs a towel and wipes the blood from Ruby's knife with trembling hands. He nearly drops it to the floor, catching it last second before he makes too much noise.

He turns the shower dial to as hot as it will go, which unfortunately is not all that hot. His hands tremble, and the craving still claws at his stomach. His mouth is dry. His skin feels like it's stretched too tight.

_"This is about as far away from strong as you can get. Try weak. Try desperate. Pathetic."_

Sam squeezes his eyes shut, clenches his fists, and inhales deeply to steady his breathing. He shudders on the exhale, and it feels like he's a second away from screaming. The hunger is painful, worse than any of those times when he was a kid and they'd run out of money for supplies because Dad was gone longer than expected. Back then, Dean could pocket something while Sam played distraction. This hunger is something much darker and deeper.

The sound of a fist against the bathroom door jolts Sam back to the present. He has to blink to clear the water from his eyes. He's leaning heavily against the tiles, body trembling every now and again beneath the cooling spray. He isn't sure how long he's been in the shower.

"Sam? You alright?"

He clears his throat, but his voice still comes out hoarse. "Fine, Jo."

He imagines her skeptical glare in the silence that follows. Eventually she warns, "Three minutes, then I'm coming in there to drag you out." Sam believes it, and in his current state, she could probably manage to move him. 

He shuts off the water and reaches for a clean towel, pointedly ignoring the bloodied one bunched on the floor. He also avoids looking at the knife. All he wants to do is give into temptation, take up the blade and go hunting for another demon. 

When he comes out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, he sees Jo typing rapidly on her phone. She glances at him sidelong. Sam digs in his bag for clothes and feels her stare following him. He puts his back more fully to her as he pulls on a shirt and awkwardly manages to keep the towel in place as he slips on the boxers he didn't remember to take into the bathroom.

"What's going on, Sam?" Jo asks when he's covered and dropped the towel. Sam ducks his head and focuses on tugging on a pair of jeans. They still have work to do this evening before they can turn in. "And don't bullshit me."

Sam buttons his jeans before turning to face her. "You want the truth?" he asks bitterly. Jo's mouth is set in a tight frown as she stares him in the eye. "You want to know what I was thinking of as soon as I saw that demon's blood?"

"I'm not your brother." Her words catch him off-guard, and it feels like he's been slapped. It cuts through the defensive anger he'd been working towards. "I want to know what this means for us right now. I want to know how to keep _you_ okay while we work on this." She crosses her arms and gives him a firm, no-nonsense once over. "You look like a wreck, so I need to know if you think you can hold it together or if we need to get out of here."

Sam slowly shakes his head, baffled by her reaction.

_"You were always a monster."_

It takes Sam a moment to realize he keeps shaking his head. He feels unable to stop, the tremors starting up again.

_"And you only feel right when you're sucking down more poison and more evil."_

"I—" He swallows hard, scrounging up some trace of saliva to wet his tongue. "I won't do it again."

Jo sighs. "We need to leave."

Sam takes a jerky step forward and grabs her shoulders. He deliberately shakes his head, then stops the movement to meet her wary gaze. "No, no. There's something... This town. We can't just walk off. I think— What if we leave and this doesn't stop?" He hears his voice shake as he whispers, "What if this never goes away?"

Jo wraps her fingers around his wrists and meets his gaze, expression determined. "Sam, you're not going to be any use in a fight with whatever this is affecting you."

"Then I-I do the research, g-get you the info," he says, stumbling over his words. "We _can't_ leave."

"Sam..." Jo squeezes his wrists and winces. Sam realizes that his fingers have tightened enough that he's likely left bruises. He releases Jo immediately, but she doesn't let him pull back. She holds his wrists and lets out a long sigh. "I want you to try to get some sleep. I know," she says as Sam opens his mouth to protest, "that you probably won't. But I need to look into some things and check in with Crowley."

"You could—" Sam cuts himself off and looks away. Jo doesn't say anything. They both know it would be foolish to invite Crowley near Sam right now. Reluctantly he nods and frees his hands from her grasp. "Yeah... you're right," he agrees quietly.

Jo goes to her duffel and pulls out a plastic bag with a variety of medicine bottles. She pulls one out and tosses it onto Sam's bed. "You can try some of those to see if you can conk out for a bit."

Sam doesn't want the pills. He doesn't want anything, in all honesty, but he mumbles a thanks anyway.

"Just... lay down for a while," Jo suggests. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Keep your phone handy, I'll be checking in every half hour, got it?"

Sam doesn't protest, just nods miserably and slumps onto his bed. He senses Jo's hesitation, but she lingers only a minute more, withdrawing a couple of things from her bag before turning to the door. He feels her eyes on him again, but he doesn't turn to look.

"Call me if you need anything, got it?" Jo says, her voice a little rough.

"Yeah. Got it," Sam mutters.

Jo curses under her breath as she leaves.

Sam lays back on the bed, fisted hands resting on his cramping stomach. There are patches of orange-red stains on the ceiling from leaks. All he can think of is blood.

 

\- - -

 

"I don't like this," Crowley growls from where he stands in the shadows of the picnic shelter. Jo keeps turning her knife over in her hands as she sits on one of the tables. She ignores Crowley's complaints just as she has for the last five minutes. A brief moment of silence later, he speaks again, "He has a reputation of being stabby."

Jo rolls her eyes. "This is _your_ idea," she reminds him. She'd argued with Crowley about finishing Famine by themselves. Oddly enough, he was the one to argue in favor of calling in additional recruits. When she asked him why, he'd suggested she was getting affected by whatever mojo was hanging over the town.

She continues, "I don't know what you're so worried about. Sam's the one with the demon-killing knife. Dean can't just stab you to death, and the standard exorcism doesn't seem to affect you."

The demon glares at her. "And what about his pet angel?"

Jo frowns as she taps the flat of her blade against her palm. "You're the one who suggested Castiel's been de-powered after being cut off from Heaven."

"Probably enough juice to smite," Crowley mutters.

They see headlights across the parking lot. Jo hops down from the table and walks toward the curb while Crowley stays behind. The Impala jerks to a stop. Dean opens the door and steps out without turning off the engine.

"Where's Sam?" he demands immediately, turning around in order to look everywhere. Jo can just make out the lines of stress on his face against the glare of the headlights.

"He's resting up," Jo says, the only explanation she's willing to give when Sam doesn't even know she's contacting his brother. "We need your help to take down Famine before this town destroys itself." She wishes she wasn't in this position. She wants to handle it herself.

Dean's gaze focuses on her, and he does not look happy. "I want to see Sam."

"We deal with this first," she tells him. "We can't keep wasting time."

Dean slaps his palm on the roof of the Impala. "You tell me where he is!"

Jo points her knife at him and snaps, "Get your head on straight, Winchester! We have a lead and you're going to help on this!"

Dean's attention shifts over her shoulder, and she can tell the moment he sees Crowley because Dean's posture tenses. He steps around the still open door of the Impala.

"You red-eyed son of a bitch," Dean swears as he marches forward.

Jo steps aside and turns so that she can see both men. Crowley has come out of the picnic shelter, expression cool. He watches Dean's approach with a careful gaze. "Pleasure to meet you too," he says.

Dean reaches for a gun at his back and has a shot off before Jo manages to grab his shoulder. Crowley grunts and utters a curse as he's hit, but Jo doesn't look over, knowing he'll be fine. Dean's face is full of rage as he glares at the demon. " _Let me go_ , Jo!" His glare doesn't stray from the demon. She has to wrestle his arm down to his side and maneuver around his tense grip to engage the safety.

"He's helping! If you're not going to work with us on taking down Famine, I'll leave your sorry ass here. Are you in or out?"

Dean's jaw visibly clenches, and she can tell he's tempted to walk away. She keeps a firm hold of his arm, leery of him taking aim at Crowley again.

"Where's Sam?" Dean asks, gaze flicking to Jo. "Why's he 'resting'?"

Jo considers her answer for a moment. Deciding Dean needs the incentive, she admits, "Famine's mojo is getting to him."

Dean gives a curt nod. "Cas, too."

They hear the crunch of paper, and when Jo turns her head to look, Dean slips from her grasp. He turns as well to stare at Castiel standing in the Impala's headlights. The angel is consuming large bites of a cheeseburger. He has another three or four similarly shaped packages cradled against his chest by his other arm.

"Seriously, man?" Dean groans.

"I see falling angels aren't immune." Crowley's voice comes from just behind Jo's shoulder.

Dean's fingers clench into fists, but he doesn't turn on the demon. "Fine. We take out Famine. Then you take me to Sam."

Jo eyes Castiel warily. "Are you even going to be able to help?"

The angel's eyes narrow slightly as his gaze turns to her. Through a food-filled mouth, he says what sounds like, "I can contain my vessel's hunger long enough to help."

Crowley snorts incredulously but refrains from comment. Jo feels skeptical as well. "Come on, let's get this show on the road," she mutters.

 

\- - -

 

Sam steps into the restaurant with the knowledge that Dean is inside. His previous fears about facing his brother are gone. His pulse beats steadily, and Sam feels more focused than he has in a long time. He makes his way through the small entry lobby. From further inside, an unfamiliar voice taunts, "You're not hungry because inside, you're already... dead."

Sam enters the main room, and his gaze locks on his brother, who's held tightly between two demons. Castiel is on the floor kneeling over a tray of raw meat. Jo's lying on the ground, groaning around hitching breaths as she clutches at her stomach. Crowley, who had been crouching beside Jo almost protectively, catches sight of Sam first. The demon's eyes widen, and he promptly disappears.

Finally Sam's gaze settles on the old man in a mechanized wheelchair parked in the center of the room. "Let him go," Sam says. He can sense all of the demons in the room, and this man isn't one of them.

Famine's shriveled face creases into a broad smile as his beady eyes lock on Sam. One wrinkled hand raises in a signal to his guards to stay back. "No one lays a finger on this sweet boy."

"Sammy..." Dean breathes, eyes going wide as he stares at Sam. A tangled mix of emotions cross his expression. Sam forces himself to ignore the horror and disappointment. "No..."

"Sam." Famine gives a dry chuckle. "I see you got the snack I sent."

Sam's eyes narrow as he licks a trace of blood from his lips. "You sent?"

Famine smirks and folds his fingers together in his lap. "Don't you worry, child. You're not like everyone else. You will never die from drinking too much." The twinkle in his eyes looks wrong in his thin, wrinkled face. He motions to the five demons in the room and invites, "Go ahead. Cut their throats. Have at them! Consider it a gift from Lucifer."

Sam's jaw tightens in anger. He doesn't need more blood now, not when he has the blood of two demons already coursing through his system and boosting the talents that have been lying dormant for far too long.

"Sammy, no!" Dean calls.

A pained whine escapes Jo as Famine says, "Please, be my guest."

Sam makes his choice. He lifts his hand and closes his eyes in concentration. He feels out the corrupted essence that makes up the demons in their hosts. He reaches out beyond the physical, stretches his grip to wrap around five twisted, once-human souls and _pulls_. He hears Dean's quick inhale of surprise as bodies drop to the floor.

When Sam opens his eyes, the demon smoke is hanging in the air. He lets his hand drop as the smoke begins to drift downward. He meets Famine's frustrated gaze with a small smile. "I don't accept."

Famine scoffs. "Fine. If you don't want them, I'll have them." He frees the nasal cannula from its place and opens his mouth, inhaling deeply. The demon smoke wavers around the dropped bodies and Dean's feet for a moment, then rushes towards the Horseman.

Dean stumbles back, quickly putting some space between himself and Famine. Sam steps closer, calmly waiting for the Horseman to finish.

The old man looks less like a skeleton, now. He sits straighter and smiles smugly when Sam lifts his hand again. "I'm a Horseman, Sam," Famine chuckles. "Your power doesn't work on me."

Sam's lips twitch in amusement. He leaves his hand open, palm out to Famine. "Yeah, you're right," he agrees. He tilts his head. "But it _will_ work on them."

The Horseman has time to frown before Sam reaches out again, reaching for and shifting through Famine's very being. He wraps around the corrupted souls inside Famine's form and _yanks_ them out. The Horseman's body ripples at the first pull, then bursts apart like a popped berry as the demon smoke breaks free.

Sam feels blood and bits of gore hit him, but he refuses to feel anything except satisfaction that the Horseman is finished.

Heart beating hard from the adrenaline, Sam lowers his hand and glances around. Something glints near his toe, and he crouches to pick up the ring still attached to a bit of finger.

"Jesus..."

Sam looks up at his brother and realizes Dean is leaning back, his feet braced as if for a fight. His hand is reaching for a weapon he doesn't have.

Sam feels like he's about to vomit, and it's not because of the gore-splattered room.

"Sam... you okay?" Jo's breathy voice asks.

Sam can't look at her. He can't meet Dean's eyes either.

Jo grunts and it sounds like she's pushing herself to her feet. "Fucking sons of a bitch Horsemen. Good job, Moose." The nickname sounds strange from her lips; Sam can tell her light tone is forced. He wonders how she can manage it when Dean is unable to even speak.

Someone gags from the other side of the room, and Sam realizes it's Castiel. The angel has his hands braced on his knees as he stands hunched over and spits out a mouthful of raw hamburger. "Are you okay?" Sam asks hoarsely.

The angel shudders once, then straightens up. He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. Although he is paler than usual, his smooth expression is back in place. His blue eyes fix on Sam's face. The hunter looks away.

"Let me see that." Crowley's voice comes from right next to Sam, though he doesn't have it in him to startle. Crowley holds out a hand. After a moment of hesitation, Sam places the partial finger in the demon's palm.

A slender hand presses lightly on Sam's back, and Jo gently encourages, "Come on, get up."

Sam reluctantly follows her direction and stands. He keeps his gaze averted. The adrenaline is wearing off and without Famine to focus his attention, he has to acknowledge what he gave into and what he has done. Again with the best intentions but—

"This could be useful," Crowley remarks as he frees the ring and drops the finger to the floor. Sam looks at the demon, the only one seemingly uninterested in Sam's performance. It takes him a long moment to realize there's something strange about the demon. Crowley doesn't... feel right. The corrupted soul is there, but it's wrapped around something else, something powerful and only faintly familiar.

"We need to get you to Bobby's," Dean finally says, voice rough.

Sam's gaze darts to his brother, and he feels his pulse speeding up. He can't go back to the panic room again. " _No._ "

"The hell d'you mean?" Dean asks, eyebrows drawing together. "We need to get that shit out of your system! Just how much of a _'snack'_ did Famine send to you?"

Sam steps back, away from Dean and out of Jo's reach. He shakes his head sharply. "I'm not doing that again. Not the panic room."

"It's the only place you're safe, and I can keep an eye on you," Dean argues, expression firm yet pleading.

"Not again," Sam repeats, hands clenching into fists. "I can't do that again." He hates how his voice breaks.

Jo injects quietly, "Maybe something else, then."

"You don't know how this goes," Dean snaps, glaring at her. "You weren't there to see what this does to him."

"I know your fear isn't doing any good!" Jo retorts. Her hand reaches for Sam again, but he steps clear. She shoots him a worried glance.

"Don't you go—"

"Sam just saved us, and all you can think about is _locking him up_ as soon as possible?" Jo demands, looking appalled. "Do you ever listen to yourself, Dean?"

"Sammy, you know I'm right," Dean says, apparently deciding to ignore Jo's accusation.

The power flowing under his skin right now feels as good as it does wrong. Sam stares at his hands and marvels at how solid he feels, how secure. He wonders why he can't have this feeling without the blood. He looks up at his brother's face, feeling lost. Dean's jaw is set, but there's fear and concern in his eyes. Sam knows he should go with Dean. Detoxing in the panic room is probably the best course of action. But he can already feel the flashbacks creeping up to prey on his mind. He _cannot_ do that again.

Crowley heaves a put-upon sigh and grabs Sam's forearm. "Don't say I never do anything for you," he says as Sam feels his stomach lurch in the familiar way it does during teleportation.

Sam blinks and the restaurant is gone, replaced by what appears to be an unfinished basement. Bare concrete covers the floor and walls. A drain sits in the middle of the gently sloped floor, and there are some questionable stains illuminated by bare, hanging light bulbs.

"Where are we?" Sam demands. He jerks his arm free and is ready to reach for the demon's essence if he's trying something funny.

Crowley raises his hands and steps away slowly. "Not far from our base of operations," he answers. "Plenty of space here to mark out what's needed to keep you contained.... If that's really what you want."

Sam lowers his hand slowly as he stares at the demon in puzzled frustration. "What else would I do?"

The demon arches an eyebrow, expression suggesting Sam's an idiot. As soon as Sam realizes Crowley's suggesting he continue on the demon blood, the hunter's hand comes up again. "Wait, wait!" Crowley barks. "I said _if_ you want, Moose!"

"Why?" Sam bites out. Against his better judgment, he drops his hand.

Crowley lowers his arms but continues to eye the hunter warily. "Costs and benefits," he says, which Sam feels is unrelated until the demon continues. "Juiced up, you have significant power to work with. Unfortunately, it's also some lovely interior decorating for the Devil. No juice, you're just another meatsuit, but you hate yourself a mite less." Crowley catches Sam's gaze. "And on those rare occasions when you actually have some... 'faith' in yourself, you're not quite as stupid."

Sam shakes his head slowly. He feels exhausted. "I don't _get_ you," he confesses quietly.

Crowley sniffs disdainfully. "I can still return you to that ape of a brother of yours."

Sam's heart sinks, and he closes his eyes. He can't get the image of Dean's fear and disappointment out of his mind. He won't go back.

After a prolonged silence, Crowley prompts, "I'll be getting you warding supplies, then?"

"Yes, please," Sam whispers.

"Do you have what you need memorized?"

Sam shrugs halfheartedly. "Enough."

The demon scowls. "Wash yourself up, and I'll sort you out before finding out if our girl's rejoining us."

"She's probably going back to Ellen," Sam says, trying to ignore the pang of abandonment he feels at that thought.

Crowley casts him an unconvinced look. "We'll see. Sink's that way." He points at a small darkened doorway.

Sam touches his face and realizes for the first time how much blood is still smeared around his mouth from when he sucked the demons dry. He shudders and turns to the little bathroom. As much as the feel of flaking blood on his skin revolts him, the longing for more wells up enough to choke him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that Jo's "hunger" is pretty vague. First draft(s) didn't even have something for her, but over on the NaNo forums in '16 I had some help. There's some hints throughout that she's longing to prove herself as a hunter, capable of working on her own.
> 
> [Most recent edit: July 16, 2018]


	8. consign me not to darkness

Purging the demon blood from his system is worse than the last time. The Devil joins his hallucinations, alternating between praise and amusement. Ruby makes more than one appearance. Not to mention Ellen's furious rant about endangering Jo; Jo turning her back on Sam; Gabriel's insistence that they jump ahead to where Sam says yes; and Crowley's eerie silence as he stares at Sam like a predator contemplating its prey.

It's a very rough three days before Sam's psychic outbursts seem to stop. In their absence, Crowley finally stays longer than the minute it takes to drop off some food and water. The demon still keeps a wary eye on Sam's shaky form.

"I suppose you can get back to a regular bed, now," the demon says eventually. Sam feels too weak to respond and nearly slumps against the demon when Crowley comes close enough to touch his arm.

Sam did not expect Jo to step up to him as soon as they appear in his bedroom back at the house. He blinks at her in surprise as she guides him onto the bed.

"You're here?"

Jo gives him a pissy look, but her hands are gentle as she wipes a cool cloth over his face. "Of course I am, you idiot."

He doesn't ask and she doesn't offer an explanation as to why she came back. They spend several days holed up, resting and researching rather than looking for a hunt. It's hard to stay put, and Sam feels restless within the first two days. He sleeps a lot, but it comes in erratic bouts as fresh nightmares plague him.

After a week, Crowley finally kicks them out. The demon says he's sick of them not getting any real work done and moping about. Sam has never been clear what Crowley is doing during all the time he's apart from them, but apparently the demon believes it's time well spent.

Although Jo still seems a little hesitant to hit the road, her concern for Sam's health obvious, she gives into Crowley's demands. They pick a potential case eight hours southeast and hit the road.

 

\- - -

 

Jo wakes slowly with her head throbbing and vision blurred. She tries to call Sam's name, but it comes out as little more than a sibilant _sss_ and a hum. 

Someone shushes her, firm yet gentle. "Sorry, kid," an unfamiliar voice tells her.

Jo tries to get herself to focus. She doesn't know why a stranger would be around. She remembers arriving in town with Sam. Crowley had begged off further involvement on their "errand runs" as he's taken to calling their relatively normal hunts. He says he's on the trail of Pestilence and Death.

Jo turns her head slowly and feels her cheek heat as it drags against rough carpet. She wrinkles her nose, suspecting she's on the filthy carpet of their motel room; it's the last place she recalls being with Sam. There had been something...

"Your head getting clearer?" the voice from before asks.

She squints and manages to make out the face of a man peering down at her from what seems like a long way up. There's something vaguely familiar about him, and she wonders if he'd been at the bar she and Sam stopped at earlier for a bite to eat.

"Wha're doin' here?" she slurs. What the hell happened?

The man looks at something out of her field of view. She hears someone else moving around. When his attention returns to her, the man says, "Saw ya earlier, and we knew we had to get you clear."

Jo blinks, slowly fighting away the haze. Her head pounds in a very distinct way; someone hit her with an expert aim and a hefty amount of force. She suspects she'll have a lump along with a major bruise beneath her hair. Slowly she moves a hand to her head to feel gently at the tender area. It's painful as hell, but at least she doesn't feel any blood.

"You'll have one hell of a bump." The man grimaces and looks away again, somewhere across the room. "Sorry about that."

Jo stares up at the man, gaze taking in his carefully blank expression and the paleness of his face. She moves her arms to get her elbows braced as she slowly pushes herself up. The man crouches down to help, and she sees the gun and knives holstered at his hips. A shotgun lays near their feet.

Jo's pulse picks up, and she darts a look around the rest of the room as best she can without getting dizzy. There's another man she can see in profile near the partition hiding the entry door from view. Her back is to the beds as the stranger helps her sit up. The only reason she isn't protesting is that she recognizes these men as hunters — it's in the way they stand and the sigils etched into their weapons.

"What happened?" she asks quietly, turning her gaze from one to the other. She keeps her voice steady although internally she's preparing herself for a fight, if needed. Something isn't right about this scene. "Where's Sam?

The man next to her sounds uncomfortable when he answers. "Like I said, we saw you earlier.... You know. With him."

Jo curls her fingers against the carpet as she stares at him suspiciously. "With who, exactly?"

The man still standing turns, and Jo recognizes him. She blinks at Roy in surprise. He sighs as he meets her gaze, but a small smile quirks up his lips. "Good to see you're alright, kid."

Jo repeats her question. "With _who?_ "

Roy's expression closes down. "Sam Winchester," he replies curtly.

Jo sits up straighter and shrugs off the hands trying to support her. "Why's that matter?" she demands. She doesn't look at it, but she's calculating how to get her hands on the abandoned shotgun or one of the weapons the man beside her is wearing.

"Your mom's been looking for you," Roy says instead of answering her question. He looks at his partner and nods. "Walt an' I will get you to her."

"I'm not going anywhere." Jo moves her legs under her in preparation to stand.

"Easy," Walt cautions, hand resting on her shoulder a moment before Jo shrugs it off. "You got knocked pretty hard."

Jo shoots Roy a dark look. "And why do I have the feeling you're to blame for that?" she accuses.

Roy snorts. "You'll recover. You were in the way, and we weren't going to get another chance at surprise."

"You could just say 'hello' to get my attention," Jo counters.

Roy's gaze slides away, attention fixing on something behind her. "Didn't want your attention."

Jo can feel her pulse throbbing against her throat as she turns her head. She feels nauseous with dread, mind fighting against the suspicion she has. Her gaze lands on the bed behind her. She can't stop the wounded, punched-out sound that escapes her when she sees the blood-spattered sheets and Sam's torn-up torso, the result of a shotgun blast.

"Sam?" she whispers. She grips the edge of the mattress and hauls herself upright. She ignores the dizziness that threatens to overwhelm her as she leans forward on braced hands, gaze roaming wildly for signs of life. "Oh my _god,_ " she breathes. She can't help staring, morbidly fascinated, at the stretch of Sam's neck streaked with blood and bits of what looks like bone. His mouth is half open, and she wonders if he had shouted for her.

The sound of blood rushing through her ears clears up when she realizes the hunters are talking behind her. "—should've moved to the truck before she woke up," Walt is arguing.

"We need to go," Roy says.

Jo turns on them, her whole body trembling with rage. "You. What did you _do?_ " She lunges at Roy, the one with a pump-action shotgun still in his hand. Her hands fist in his shirt, and she gets right up in his face. " _Why did you kill him?_ " Jo kicks behind her as soon as she feels hands pulling at her. "Don't you touch me!"

"He's the reason!" Roy spits, struggling to get his arms up between them to push her off. Jo clings tight and jams her heel as hard as she can against the arch of his foot. He curses and manages to elbow her in the stomach. The move jostles her enough for Walt to get a good grip and pull her backwards.

"Settle down!" Walt hisses near her ear. Jo bucks against him, making it a real challenge for him to keep his hold.

Roy backs away from her kicking feet. " _He's_ the reason we're staring down the end of the world!" he shouts, anger contorting his features.

Walt manages to knock Jo off-balance, and she feels his arms tighten to hold her upright. "It's true," he assures her. "You weren't safe with him. Come on, let's get you back to Ellen."

"Who told you this shit?" she demands. Jo takes advantage of Walt trying to hold her up and goes limp for a moment. As he stumbles off-balance, she plants a foot and pulls to one side, freeing herself. She turns and knees him in the groin. Her hands close around the revolver at his hip and yanks it free.

"Put it down, Jo," Roy warns. She steps out of Walt's reach and turns her gun on Roy. The other hunter has his shotgun up but not quite aimed. His eyes are hard as he stares at her. "You already _knew?_ "

Jo sneers at him. "You don't know shit," she bites out. She adjusts her grip on the revolver, readying to shoot. She turns a glare on Walt. "Get the fuck out."

"Was he really such a good fuck you'd turn a blind eye?" Roy asks in disbelief.

"Drop the gun, get moving, or I will fucking _end_ you." Jo's voice is rock hard and cold. Her finger tightens minutely on the trigger as Roy casts Walt a skeptical look. She tells him, "You have no idea how much restraint it's taking me not to blow your goddamn brains out."

Walt nudges Roy's side. "Let's get out of here, man. That clerk's gotta be back by now, and we don't know for sure there weren't other guests."

Roy eyes Jo with obvious disgust. "Your mom's going to be so disappointed."

Jo adjusts her aim at the last second as she pulls the trigger. The bullet buries itself below Roy's collar bone in a burst of blood. He shouts in surprise, and his shotgun slips out of his hands. Walt shouts for Jo to stop and presses a hand against his friend's wound.

"Get the fuck _out!_ " Jo holds the revolver in steady hands despite how shaky she feels inside.

Walt pulls Roy with him on the way out the door. Jo doesn't bother trying to figure out what they're saying around their swearing. Her aim follows them all the way out. It takes a minute for her to be able to relax her hold even after she hears the squeal of tires pealing out of the parking lot.

It takes her five tries to dial Crowley and get the phone up to her ear. As soon as the ring cuts off, she names the town and hotel, followed by a choked, "I need you." If he says anything, she doesn't hear it.

 

\- - -

 

"You sure you should be driving?" Crowley asks. Jo presses down on the gas and feels the faintest flicker of satisfaction as Crowley grunts at the sudden burst of speed that presses him back against the seat. "Fine," he grumbles.

Jo's gaze is fixed on the road. Her jaw feels like it's locked into place. She's holding back more emotion than she cares to admit, knowing that she'll be useless if she tries to process it now. Sam's body — _No, it's still Sam, he's not..._ — lays in the backseat, an awkward arrangement of limbs that would be uncomfortable if—

"Breathe, love," Crowley says quietly from the passenger seat. Jo blinks angrily against the burning in her eyes. "He'll be back."

"They killed him!" she bursts out. She slams her fist against the steering wheel, causing the car to swerve. Crowley reaches over and helps steady the wheel. "Those fuckers _killed him_ , and I... I let them walk! What the h— I should've shot them!"

"Won't argue that," the demon mutters. "But let's focus on the now, shall we? Have you been present at any previous 'miraculous' resurrections?"

It makes Jo sick to acknowledge that this has happened before, that Sam has died and come back — against his will. She is neither blind nor stupid; she's seen scars that could be nothing other than self-inflicted. She shakes her head silently and swallows down bile.

"I suspect it wise to find a place to stop." Crowley's tone suggests he knows that Jo won't be pulling off the road anytime soon. The idea of being motionless makes fear crawl up her spine; it's why she'd demanded Crowley move Sam into the car, back at the motel.

"Where is he?" Jo asks. Her eyes dart to the rear-view mirror. She can just see Sam's knees as they pass under a street lamp at the side of an exit ramp 

Crowley turns around to look in the back. "Here's the thing, love," he says, tone tinged with bitter amusement. "The Powers That Be would have you believe Moose's soul is Hell-bound. One of Azazel's children groomed for destruction, the Devil's vessel... Surely such a creature is destined for the Pit." The demon barks a laugh, and Jo sees a glint of light catch his teeth. "But tell me, Miss Harvelle, do you believe the man you know is doomed to Damnation?"

"Not if there's an ounce of justice left in the world."

Crowley tips his head in acknowledgment. "Contrary to popular belief, the road to Hell is rarely paved with good intentions." After a pause, he amends, "Unless making a Deal at the Crossroads."

Jo's fingers tighten on the wheel. "How safe is he in Heaven if even the angels are after him?"

"That is the problem," he agrees. He frowns when Jo glances over at him. "How long's he been out?"

Jo swallows hard and glances at the dashboard clock. "Maybe two hours?"

"Maybe we should put some distance between us and him," Crowley suggests cautiously. "He might not... be himself when—"

"I'm not leaving him, so don't you dare..." Jo lets the threat trail off. Taking a deep breath, she continues, "We... we need to know what's happening. There has to be some way to help."

The demon sighs, and Jo can tell from the sound that Crowley has thought of a solution he doesn't like. She splits her attention between the road and Crowley. He turns to sit properly in the seat and scowls out the windshield. "There's a feathered bastard we might try," he says grudgingly.

Jo frowns. "I don't think it's a good idea to get Castiel and Dean involved."

"Gabriel," Crowley corrects.

"Oh."

Jo can practically hear Crowley rolling his eyes. "Yeah, 'Oh'."

 

\- - -

 

Sam opens his eyes when the smell of pancakes reaches his nose. He blinks in confusion at the white stuccoed ceiling. In addition to the sweet smell of pancakes, he recognizes the faint scent lavender and rosemary shampoo lingering on the pillow under his head. He rolls over slowly, warily. There's no one beside him in bed, but there's a dip in the pillow and the blanket's mussed — signs of someone else having been there.

He sits up and looks around the room, feeling confused although it's muted by a sense of contentment. He loved this bedroom, loved it because it was part of a life he made on his own. It was a private sanctuary, the place where he made love with Jess. It was where he brought her breakfast in bed one Valentine's day when he managed to sneak into the kitchen while she was still asleep.

He slips out of bed and walks out of the room, torn between running down the short hall and hanging back. He doesn't know whether he wants to see his former girlfriend or if he fears that she won't be here. His feet make the decision for him, and he keeps moving forward. It feels like his heart's moved to his throat when he hears a familiar, much-loved voice singing off-key.

Sam reaches the doorway leading into the kitchen with tears in his eyes. He smiles widely at the sight of Jess flipping pancakes and mumbling through the lyrics she doesn't remember. "Jess," he breathes.

The blonde jumps a little, and the pancake she was flipping falls out of the pan. "Shit!" she exclaims. "Aw, screw it." She flicks the dial to turn the stove off and spins around to face Sam with a big smile on her face. She moves to him and wraps him in a hug, spatula still in her hand. 

Sam's hands come up automatically and his arms wrap around her tightly. He closes his eyes as he buries his nose against her hair and inhales her familiar scent. He squeezes her gently and whispers, "I've missed you."

"Shh, it's alright." Jess tugs at his shirt in a gesture to let her back up. Sam lets her ease back but doesn't fully let her go; she keeps her hands on his waist, anyway. She looks up at Sam with a warm smile, and she goes on tiptoe to give him a quick kiss. "Hey, cutie."

"What's going on?" Sam asks, glancing briefly around the kitchen before his gaze returns to Jess. He leans in to kiss her cheek, her nose, her mouth. She lets him and returns his kiss with feeling, but not hunger.

"I'm sorry, Sam," she says. Sam leans back enough to give her a confused look. She still wears a smile, but there is sadness in her eyes. "God, I loved you so much."

"Jess...?"

She lifts a hand to his face, and Sam turns his head to kiss her palm. Jess strokes her thumb over his cheek. She looks wistful as she watches him. "But you can't stay, Sam."

He clutches her, distressed. "Why would I leave you?"

"I'll be here, a part of me always will, if that's what you want when you come to stay." Jess brushes her thumb against his lips. "But I hope by then you've truly moved on."

Sam shakes his head slowly, eyes closing. "I'm not going anywhere, Jess."

She leans in again to place a gentle kiss to his lips, and it feels like a goodbye. Sam feels like his heart is breaking and with the pain comes memories: Jo falling under the sharp blow from the butt of a gun; a hunter pumping a shotgun and accusing Sam of thinking he could _"flip the switch on the Apocalypse and walk away?"_ Remembering the sound of the gunshot makes Sam flinch.

He opens his eyes to Jess' knowing gaze. "How am I with you?" he murmurs, looking around. "This is... this is Heaven, right?" he asks hesitantly.

"Of course it is," she assures him. "I wish..." She goes quiet for a moment. "You always ask," she whispers, expression sad.

"How?"

Jess leans her head against his chest and wraps him in a tight embrace. "You deserve to be here, Sam. I promise. But not yet."

Sam presses his cheek against her hair. "No. _Please,_ I don't want to go."

"You need to, sweetheart." Jess manages to pull back, but she seems just as reluctant as Sam to let go. She meets his gaze, and Sam sees fierce determination there. "It's not safe for you to stay in one place. You have to keep going. You have to avoid them."

"Who?"

"The angels," Jess answers, expression falling. "Don't let them find you." She takes his hands in hers and presses a kiss to the back of each one. "Don't let them have the satisfaction of trapping you. Make your own way."

"Jess—"

She lets go and steps back. "Go," she says, pointing toward the doorway that should lead to the living room. She offers him a smile, teary but strong. "I believe in you."

Sam wants to argue, wants to stay, but the floor shudders and the walls seem to groan. Jess looks around quickly. "Go," she insists more firmly, shoving at his back. "Get out of here and just keep moving!"

His feet obey, hunter's survival instincts kicking in even as his heart pleads to stay.

The hardwood floor under his feet gives way to concrete, then gravel, carpet, a sandy boardwalk... Sam doesn't let himself think about it, barely allows himself the time to recognize sites he visited with Jess. He feels like her hand is still on his back, pressing him forwards. Keep moving, she said. _"Make your own way."_

 

\- - -

 

Sam stops running only when he realizes he's in a parking lot empty of anything but the Impala. He feels a sharp pang of homesickness. He looks around but there's no one and nothing else in sight. He approaches the car cautiously, slowly realizing it's been months since he's seen it. He trails his fingers across the hood as he circles to the driver's side, checking its reality. When he tries the door handle, it opens and he slips inside. He sits at the wheel for a long moment without doing anything. There are keys in the ignition, ones he recognizes as his dad's. He glances at the backseat and sees an old Ninja Turtles backpack. There's also a scratchy blanket lifted from a hotel for when the car felt too cold on long trips during northern winters.

Sam turns the key, and the engine hums to life. He stares out the windshield but has no idea where he's supposed to go from here.

The radio abruptly crackles and someone says, "Get driving, kiddo."

Sam stares at the stereo in surprise. "What?"

"You're in that damn car, aren't you?" The Trickster's, Gabriel's, voice sounds irritated. "Get driving. I'm sure you have a garrison on your ass, and you do _not_ want them catching up with you."

"Where am I supposed to go?" Sam asks. He shifts gear out of park and starts looking for an exit.

Gabriel sighs in a burst of static. "What do you see?"

"An empty parking lot."

"Why are you—? Never mind. There's gotta be an exit. Tell me what you see then."

Sam starts driving, slowly making his way around the parking lot until he finally sees a break in the curb. The blacktop merges into a hard-packed dirt lane. "It's a road, unpaved," Sam relays as he starts down the lane. It soon widens into a two lane highway, still unpaved.

"Of course it is. Right-o, so here's the deal," Gabriel says. "You get caught and Zachariah and his goons are going to kick your ass out of Heaven, then follow your soul back to your meatsuit. So..."

"Don't get caught?" Sam finishes.

"Bingo! Keep moving on even if something makes you want to stay. It's not a good plan to settle for long."

Sam thinks of Jess. "For how long?" he asks.

"How the hell should I know?" Gabriel complains.

"So, what? I'm supposed to keep running for all eternity?" The dirt road gives way to a smoothly paved highway cutting through a desert. Sam is momentarily struck speechless as he's faced with a vast, impossible sky of dark azure dotted with a plethora of stars. They are brighter and larger than anything he has seen before.

"You'll be back, don't worry," Gabriel says. "Your buddies would like to speed the process along, but I thought I'd give you a tip. That path you're so dedicatedly following?"

Sam returns his attention to the voice on the radio. "Yeah?"

"Takes a variety of forms, but it's known as the Axis Mundi. Keep following it and you might find someone worth talking to."

"That's not cryptic at all."

"Shut your pie hole. You don't want to look into it, it's no skin off my nose, buddy boy."

"Tell me who it is, at least," Sam says.

Gabriel laughs. "A gardener."

"What?"

"Good luck, kiddo."

"Gabriel, wait!"

Silence greets him. Playing with the stereo only brings forth the familiar tunes of Dean's favorite mix-tape, which Sam made him back in the third grade.

"Damn it," Sam mutters.

 

\- - -

 

Gabriel flops dramatically onto a chaise lounge that hadn't been present a moment before. "There, communication made," he announces. "Dunno why you needed me when I hear you've got a little winged upstart following Sasquatch's other half around like a lost puppy."

Jo frowns but doesn't say anything. Her gaze returns to Sam's body laying on a thin mattress several feet away in the middle of an intricate set of warding sigils. A sheet covers the damage of his chest.

"And how do you expect that conversation to go?" Crowley responds acerbically. "'Would you mind popping up to check in on something? By the way, it happens to be your dead mate'."

"Scared of a little 'awkward'?" Gabriel sing-songs.

"I care about self-preservation," Crowley sneers. "Something you are apparently concerned with as well."

The angel's attention shifts back to Sam, expression suddenly serious. His lips press together in a thin frown.

"What's going on?" Jo asks.

Gabriel gives a brief shake of his head. "Need to check again. Feel like something hinky's up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we've arrived at the events of "Dark Side of the Moon." Obviously this is going to go differently given that Sam's the only one up there and Gabriel's the angel roped into helping.
> 
> [Most recent edit: July 17, 2018]


	9. i'll believe in grace and choice

The road comes to an abrupt end, forcing Sam to slam on the brakes. The asphalt cracks where it leads up to the edge of a sharp drop. Dense shrubs and trees won't allow for an alternate route via car. Reluctantly, Sam parks and gets out. He leaves the door open and the keys in the ignition as he walks toward the end of the road. He peers over the edge of the cliff and sees ocean waves crashing against an outcropping of rocks several hundred feet below him.

"Now what?" he mutters. He goes back to the Impala and drums his fingers on the roof as he looks around. He doesn't think it's a good idea to backtrack, but he hates the idea of leaving the Impala. The car still means "safety" to him, the nearest thing to a home he has ever had.

It takes a moment to realize the ground beneath his feet is trembling. Sam looks around quickly and sees what looks like a searchlight crossing over the road he recently drove across.

"Shit." Sam smacks the roof of the Impala and ducks his head to shout at the stereo, "I don't know if you're listening, but I have to make a run for it!" No response comes in the few seconds Sam allows himself to wait. He pushes off from the car and heads into the woods at a sprint.

A high-pitched whine accompanies the rumbling ground as Sam tries to maintain a fast pace through the thick woods. It feels like the forest is actively against him; the brushwood is denser than expected and causes him to stumble. The focus of the light hasn't found him yet, but he can tell it's getting closer as the woods brighten nearby.

_Shit. I'm not going to make it!_

Sam is in the middle of considering trying to shout a warning at Gabriel when something catches his sleeve. Before Sam can pull away, a voice insists, "Come on, Sasquatch. Gotta avoid the cameras."

Sam doesn't believe he has much of a choice, so he lets the shadowed figure pull him along. The man appears to be decked out in a lumpy amalgam of military camouflage. Sam hopes this is real help and not some trick.

"Here we go!" The voice sounds more familiar this time. Sam almost doesn't notice the unexpected door suddenly in front of them because he's trying to put a face to the voice. "Open sesame!" The cloaked figure shoves the door open and pulls Sam through.

Sam almost trips as wooden floorboards replace uneven forest terrain. It's been a few years, but it only takes a moment for Sam to place his surroundings. "The Roadhouse," he breathes in surprise.

"Mi casa es su casa." The man leading Sam leans over to pull the cobbled-together camo cloak over his head. "Welcome, amigo!" Ash straightens up and flicks his hair back over his shoulder. He looks the same down to his mullet and the torn-off sleeves of his shirt.

"Ash...?"

"The one and only! Looks like you need a drink." Ash turns and heads for the bar. Sam trails behind.

"How did you find me? How did you even know I was here?" Sam asks.

Ash places a couple of beers on the bar and beckons Sam forward to take a seat. "Finding you involved a bit of luck. As for knowing you were singing with the heavenly choir, that's easy. Angel radio lit up like a firecracker! You're doing a good job of pissing them off."

Sam smiles humorlessly, unsurprised. "Angel radio?" he prompts as he lets himself relax and take a drink of his beer.

"Feathered flock's gotta communicate some way." Ash reaches under the counter and pulls out his laptop. He shoots Sam a smug smile as he opens the computer and shows off a mess of sound graphs. The high-pitched whining noise that comes from the speakers makes Sam wince, but Ash appears unbothered. "That'd be the angels blabbing in Enochian," Ash explains as he turns the volume down. "Took some getting used to, but I'm fluent now." He sounds proud of himself.

"So you... spend your time drinking beer and listening to angel radio?" 

Ash shrugs, nodding a little. "Sure, a lot of the time. Can't always be off exploring the heavens." In response to Sam's furrowed brow, Ash clarifies, "Stop thinking of Heaven as some singular thing." He waves a hand in a wide arc. "Billions of human souls, billions of slices of Heaven."

"Everyone gets their own?" Sam asks, surprised. Ash nods. "Isn't that... lonely?"

"Nah. Well, okay, I don't know about other people. But from what I've seen, you get your heaven full of the people and things you want. Whatever makes you happy and relaxed, man." Ash takes a swig of his beer and burps. "But me? I gotta nose around. That's why the—" he gestures at his laptop "—and the running around. Been all over the place. Johnny Cash, André the Giant, freaking Einstein, man! Met your college sweetie, I think she's interested in exploring, too."

Sam feels his heart ache at the memory of Jessica standing in his arms again. "She told me to run," he says quietly.

Ash looks sympathetic. "Yep. Zachariah will track you eventually, even here."

"That light is Zachariah?"

"Yeah." Ash laughs. "Boy, does that guy have choice words about you and Dean!"

"If he finds me, he'll track me back on Earth. I think I have friends waiting with my body, and I really don't think the angels will have any problems with killing them." Sam gives Ash a pleading look. "I have to prote—" he cuts himself off when it sinks in who he's talking to. "I got you killed."

Ash reaches across the bar to lightly punch Sam's shoulder. "There's that Winchester guilt. Dude, I'm cool with it." He snaps and points finger guns at Sam. "You apparently don't remember it, but we go through this every freaking time. I mean, who the hell do you think you are? Sure, I wasn't hitting the hunting grounds myself, but I knew the score and lived in a bar acting as a central hub for hunter kind. We all know the shit that gets stirred up."

"But Azazel—"

"Ah!" Ash holds up a hand and shakes his head. "I'm sure we'll have this argument _again_ sometime, so let's skip it this go 'round, huh? Let's talk who's sitting with your body."

Sam relents. "Jo was knocked out when they killed me. Earlier, when I was in the Impala, Ga— um, a sort of maybe-ally of ours contacted me and suggested Crowley was around."

"That name sounds familiar," Ash mutters to himself. "What else did your buddy say?"

Sam frowns. "Something about a gardener and following the Axis Mundi."

Ash's eyebrows raise. "Huh! So you're off to see the Wizard, or the closest you're gonna get with the Big Man absent." Ash turns the laptop to have better access to his keyboard and starts typing. "Not sure how space works up here exactly, but there does seem to be a central path that leads to a common ground. At the center is the Garden."

"The Garden of Eden?"

"Duh. And I hear the gardener is Joshua. But I haven't heard him pipe up over the radio," Ash remarks. "Don't even hear _about_ him much, but he's gotta be a big enough name to come up even if he doesn't seem to be active in your Armageddon hootenanny."

"Supposedly he's worth talking to." Sam shakes his head. "I don't know, but I might as well try it."

Ash hits the enter key with an air of finality. "And there we go. I should have a shortcut for you. Who's giving you this tip, again?"

Sam glances around the seemingly empty room. He knows better than to assume his words will be kept private, though. "It's a weird situation," he says, "but he's sort of a runaway."

Ash whistles. "Gossip and potential information rolled into one. Which feathered pincushion is it?"

"I don't think he'd appreciate being outed," Sam responds dryly.

"Bummer, man. I want full disclosure next time." Ash squints intently at his computer screen for a moment before nodding decisively. He closes the laptop and stores it back under the counter before heading toward the kitchen door. "C'mon, giant man, it's time to get you outta here."

Sam quickly gets to his feet and follows. "Where are we going next?"

"We? Sorry, no 'we,' amigo." Ash pushes open the kitchen door and snags a piece of chalk from a metal table just inside the door. "I should be able to set you up on the short route to the Garden, though."

Sam moves a little more slowly after hearing he'll be making his own way. Ash continues striding across the kitchen to what looks like an external door.

"What are you doing?" Sam asks, watching Ash flip the piece of chalk over his fingers.

"Little bit o' the Dr. Badass touch..." Ash smirks to himself as he starts marking up the door in symbols that originate from a variety of mystical texts. "I'm not sure what time passes like for your breathing folks, but presumably you'd like to get back A-SAP. Might as well see about giving you a break on the long road to the Garden."

Sam watches over Ash's shoulder as the other man covers the entire top half of the door. Despite the amount of markings, Ash finishes in a matter of minutes. He steps back, face an expression of intense concentration as he examines his work.

"So... this'll get me to Joshua?"

Ash turns to Sam with a shrug and an easy smile. "In theory. Have to admit you're a guinea pig, but I'm getting pretty good at this traveling through Heaven thing."

"Not much choice," Sam says to himself. Ash rolls his eyes, but his smile remains in place. "Ash..."

"Aw jeez, don't even try goin' there, man." Ash shoves at Sam's shoulder. "You're gonna bring me down, dude. Get out there and kick the system. Give Jo and her Mama Bear a hug from ol' Ash." He gestures firmly towards the door and takes a few steps back.

Sam eyes the door hesitantly before reaching for the handle. He's opened it a crack when Ash speaks again.

"And Sam?" When the hunter looks back, Ash continues, "Can't say I won't expect to see you again. Just, y'know, kick some ass in the meantime."

Sam nods. "Got it."

Ash salutes. "Later, dude."

"Watch yourself... even if it is Heaven," Sam says.

Ash laughs. "I've got it. Get out of here."

Sam takes a deep breath, throws open the door, and steps through a blinding haze of light.

 

\- - -

 

When Sam's vision clears, he finds himself standing next to the Impala in a gravel parking lot of what might be a rest stop or a camping ground. It's fairly dark, just past sunset when the sky is a deep blue and the stars aren't very bright yet. He frowns and looks for an exit from the lot. This is hardly a garden, Eden or otherwise.

"Sammy, get in the car. I told you to wait."

He spins around, startled. "Dad?" He stares at John Winchester coming across the grass from dark shadows. He has a gun in his hand and blood spatter across his tan jacket.

"Get in, boy."

Sam shakes his head with a quiet sigh. "I'd love to stay and chat, but I have somewhere I need to be. This isn't real." Sam turns away and starts walking in the opposite direction.

"Don't you walk away from me!" John shouts, and somehow he is suddenly behind Sam, holding onto his son's shoulder with a fierce grip. Sam stops in surprise at the strength he can feel behind those fingers. He doesn't turn around, though his eyes dart to the side to look at the fingertips digging into the meat of his shoulder. "You _always_ walk away. Forgetting your place and the sacrifices made for you."

"Let me go," Sam says quietly. He tries to step away, but John uses his hold to turn Sam around.

Despite the dark shadows cast over their surroundings, Sam can see the anger in John's eyes. "We lost everything because of you," John accuses in a low voice. "I lost my wife, Dean lost his mother. We lost our home, our peace, our _life!_ Because of you, Sam. And how do you repay the sacrifices we made? You turn your back on what's left of your family and walk away."

"I was— How can you _say_ that?" Sam argues, swallowing against the sharp spike of fear just barely covering decades' long guilt. "I was a baby. I didn't—"

"We didn't want another kid! We still needed to settle in, sort out the finances, have time for Mary to settle into a job once Dean was at school. You weren't supposed to be in the picture, there wasn't a place for you!" John drops his hand from Sam's shoulder and shakes his head, an expression of disgust on his face. "You were a mistake in so many ways."

"Don't say that," Sam whispers, blinking fiercely against tears he's unable to quash. " _Don't._ You're not real..."

John flashes his teeth in a bitter smile. "I should have left you to burn back then. Or let those black-eyed sons of bitches have you. Did you know they used to pop up when we lingered in a town? And what good was it to fight for you? You walked away the first chance you got! But you couldn't escape, none of us could when we'd gotten as deep in as we were. I was an idiot to think we'd be any better off with you in the picture than out, though. What have you done since? Let Yellow Eyes have his children and open the Hell gates, damned your brother, got good hunters killed, raised the God-damned _Devil._ "

"I'm trying to fix it!" Sam shouts.

"You can't!" John spits each word with visible fury. "There is _nothing_ you can do to make this right. What do you have to live for? You're just making things worse. It's inevitable, just say yes to Lucifer and finish this shit."

Sam's lips press into a thin, cold line as he stares at the man in front of him. The righteous fury is all authentic John Winchester; so is the anger in the man's eyes and the set of his jaw. The underlying accusations are nothing Sam hasn't previously suspected, these words are just more blunt than he's heard before.

"Dad would never tell me to give in," Sam says lowly. "He'd _never_ back up the destruction of the world."

"Have you looked around the world? It _is being destroyed!_ "

Sam shakes his head sharply and forces himself to turn away. "You are _not_ my dad," he says firmly.

Before he can take a step, someone claps loudly and slowly from off to the side. He spins on his heel to look at the newcomer. His eyes widen as he takes in Zachariah's smirking visage. The angel stands in the middle of the parking lot.

"Oh, bravo. Great scene, really can see the familial love." The angel makes a poor effort of feigning a sympathetic frown. "Poor Sammy, distrusted and hated by his own parents."

"Shut up, you son of a bitch," Sam hisses between clenched teeth.

Zachariah tuts mockingly. "Oh Sam, Sammy, Samuel. You Winchesters are full of such _denial._ " He approaches John's side and slings a familiar arm around the man's shoulders. "But strip off that top layer of bullshit and, woo-ee, what a fascinating study of human love and hate!"

"That's not my father."

"Are you sure?" Zachariah arches a skeptical eyebrow. He turns his head to John, who is silently glaring at Sam. The angel's grin widens. "You always knew he resented you, didn't you, Sammy? Come on, you can tell me," he coaxes with a sly glance in Sam's direction. "You knew it was good ol' Big Brother keeping Daddy in check. You remember who looked out for you if you got sick or hurt. You always knew it wouldn't do any good to ask Dad for help. If the choice had been left up to him, John would've left you to wander off in the dead of winter and drown in that not-so-frozen lake." Zachariah laughs and slaps John's shoulder like it's the funniest joke imaginable. "You remember that season, right, Sammy?"

Despite Sam gripping tight to his conviction that this is all a manipulation by the angel, he can feel the environment around them changing to fit his memory. He feels the biting winter wind whipping through naked trees that appear all around them. A half-moon glitters off of a carpet of deep, white snow. Sam shivers as he sees the lake less than a hundred feet away. He remembers how his young eyes had overlooked the dip of the snowbank indicating where solid ground ended and the lake began. He had been looking for Dean, having gotten out of the Impala to try and find out where his family had gone. Fifteen minutes still felt like a long time to be left alone, back then. It was before Sam got used to Dean helping John on hunts. It was before Sam _knew_ they were hunts.

" _So close_ to getting an out, Sam, but Big Brother couldn't let you go." Zachariah tuts. He removes his arm from around John and snaps his fingers. John disappears, and Sam stares blankly at the empty expanse of white.

Sam rolls his shoulders back and straightens to his full height, towering over Zachariah's form. The angel looks mildly amused by his posturing.

"So is this it?" Sam asks. "Your big plan to get me to say yes: Tell me how people died because of me, how _worthless_ their sacrifices have been? Tell me how Dean's never been able to let me go and my father quietly hated me? Nothing new, pal." Sam laughs, ignoring how the sound catches in his throat. "You think your big brother hasn't been pointing out how all roads in my life have been leading me straight to this?"

Zachariah's eyes narrow. "I'm at the point of not caring, Sammy. You and your brother have caused me enough trouble. Do you know the shit that a gossipy bunch of seraphs will toss around when a couple of flannel-wearing maggots pull one over on their superior?" The angel sneers. "Say yes or don't, it doesn't matter." He stalks forward, and Sam doesn't have the chance to dodge when the angel's fist comes flying forward to collide with his stomach. Sam doubles over, breathless from the pain; Zachariah hits like a sledgehammer. "I just want a little time to work you over. You know, pay you back."

When Sam regains enough breath, he gasps, "Fuck you."

Zachariah's fingers fist in Sam's hair and yank his head to the side. The angel's eyes glow as he stares down at Sam.

"Pardon me," a new voice interrupts. Sam can't see who it is, the angel's grip is too tight, and his girth keeps Sam's vision locked on him.

"Busy right now," Zachariah snarls, not looking away from Sam.

"I need to speak with this young man."

"Back off," the angel barks, head turning slightly as he responds. "I'm not finished here."

"Perhaps it's a bad time, but I really must insist." The new voice is still calm, as if the newcomer sees Zachariah twisting the hair out of people's heads every day. Sam realizes that isn't beyond the realm of possibility.

"You can't insist jack-squat," the angel counters snidely.

Things get quiet for a while, and from what Sam can see of the angel's expression, it looks like Zachariah is rethinking his position.

"I can't, but the boss can."

Zachariah sounds slightly shaken as he mutters, "You're lying."

Whatever expression is on the newcomer's face must convince the angel. He looks back at Sam with a sharp frown. "This isn't over, Winchester," he hisses. Abruptly he lets go of Sam's hair and disappears.

Somewhere between regaining his balance and touching his tender head, the environment radically changes. When the sharp pain of having hair ripped out fades to a throb, Sam takes a good look around. He's standing on a narrow path in the middle of a lush garden. The air is warm and humid. Overhead he can see the steel arches and glass panels of a dome. He remembers this place — a school field trip during one of the stays in Ohio.

"You see what you want to here," the voice from before says.

Sam looks down to meet the bright eyes of an older-looking black man. He looks calm, a physical reflection of his tone.

"You're... Joshua?" Sam asks.

The angel nods. "I am."

Sam glances around the garden again. "So..."

"Someone suggested you seek me?" Joshua prompts.

"Yeah. I'm not entirely sure why," Sam admits, returning his gaze to the angel.

Joshua smiles minutely. "I talk to God, sometimes."

Sam feels his mouth drop open in surprise. "What? He... He's talking to someone? Everyone's been acting like He isn't around."

"Not face to face," the angel clarifies. "I tend the Garden, God walks on the Earth. We don't get together to sit for tea and a chat."

"He's on Earth?" Sam's surprise increases. "Then... He must know some of what's going on. Does he know Castiel is looking for Him?"

"He knows," Joshua states. "He knows the Apocalypse has begun and what the angels are doing." He turns his head in a single shake as Sam's lips part to speak. "He knows, He just doesn't think it's His problem."

Sam feels like the ground has disappeared from under him. Stunned, he echoes, "Not His problem?"

Joshua continues with his same tranquility. "God saved you already. He put you on that plane, He brought back Castiel, and He granted you salvation in Heaven. That's more than He has done in a long time."

Sam shakes his head and has to spend a few moments focusing on keeping his breath steady. "But... He can stop all this." He looks at Joshua with what he knows must be a pathetically pleading expression. "Why waste time on us when he can _stop_ this?"

Joshua's voice is gentle. "Why does He do anything? Why allow evil in the first place? Ask questions like that and you'll drive yourself crazy."

Sam runs his fingers through his hair in frustration, grimacing as he pulls at his damaged scalp. "God's just going to sit back and watch it all burn?" He shakes his head again. "I don't get it. Castiel says humans are God's cherished Creation. You're telling me God is on Earth. How can He let this happen? People are _dying_ — humans and angels alike!"

"I don't have the answers you seek," Joshua replies, expression patient. "This is the message I've been asked to pass on to you."

Sam laughs and it comes out harsh, disappointed and bitter. "What, to back off?"

The angel inclines his head in silent acknowledgment. "You'll pass this message along to your brother and Castiel?"

"I don't exactly speak with them much these days."

Joshua says firmly, "You will make it a point to tell them." Sam clenches his jaw, but he nods his agreement. "I know how important this was for your brother," Joshua continues unexpectedly.

Sam frowns in confusion. "Dean hardly believed in God even when he finally accepted Castiel was really an angel."

"God was his last hope." For the first time, Joshua shows emotion, and he looks genuinely apologetic. "He's losing faith in himself, in you, and he sees Castiel falling further every day. Now you will bring him this news."

Sam sucks in a sharp breath. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

Joshua's eyebrows arch. "You think I'd lie?"

"You're not exactly the first angel I've encountered," Sam responds with a frown. "I haven't found any to be particularly forthcoming."

The angel nods his head. "That has been your experience, yes," he acknowledges. "I merely needed to pass His message to you. Whether you believe... well, that's up to you. I _am_ rooting for you, Sam. I wish I could do more to help you, but... you have the companions you need."

Sam looks away from the angel and stares moodily at a brilliant red flower sticking out from behind a broad, waxy leaf. "So what now?" he asks quietly.

"Now?" Joshua shifts, taking a step forward. "You go home again. No, the angels won' track you. Your friends are safe for now. But I'm afraid this time won't be like the last." Sam sends Joshua a questioning look. "This time, God wants you to remember," he explains as he raises his hand.

Sam is unable to speak as a white light envelops him and the sound of a strong gust of wind rushes past his ears.

 

\- - -

 

Jo startles from her half doze at the sound of a loud gasp. She lifts her head from the edge of the chaise lounge where she'd been resting and focuses on the protective circle where Sam is laying. The other hunter is heaving in breaths like he's surfaced from the water. His hands scramble for purchase on the thin bedding beneath him.

Jo rolls into a crouch, ready to go to him, but Gabriel appears from nowhere and steps into the circle first. The archangel bends over the hunter and stares intensely at Sam's face.

"You awake and in your own noggin, kiddo?" he asks.

Sam's eyes squint open, and slowly he stops his frantic groping of the sheets. He blinks, and his gaze focuses on the angel above him. "Gabriel?"

"Hmm. You seem alright." Gabriel straightens up and nods at Jo. "No hitchhikers, you're in the clear."

She makes her way over to Sam, reaching out a hand to help him stand as Gabriel wanders away. As soon as Sam seems reasonably steady on his feet, Jo wraps her arms around him in a tight hug. " _Damn it,_ Sam. You scared the hell out of me." She squeezes her eyes shut, fighting back relieved tears.

Sam awkwardly returns the hug as he gently pets Jo's hair. "I'd have stopped it if I could," he tells her quietly.

She huffs a little, though not amused. "I should have killed them when I had the chance."

Sam's arms tighten around her. "No, you just needed to keep yourself safe," he tells her gently. "Can't kill all the stupid people in the world or there'd be no one left, right?"

Jo pulls back far enough that Sam can see her eyes roll. He gives her a small smile. "I..." His gaze averts for a long moment before he continues. "I saw Ash. He... um, he sends his regards."

Jo stares in surprise. She doesn't know what to say. Instead of asking after that statement specifically, she questions, "What happened?"

Sam withdraws his arms and steps away from Jo. He doesn't answer, instead looking around the mostly bare basement area. His gaze catches on Gabriel, who's gone back to laying on the lounge and sorting through a large bowl of candy. The angel arches an eyebrow in silent question when he notices their attention.

"Well, you gonna answer the lady?" Gabriel prompts.

"Where's Crowley?"

Jo shrugs. "He was here before I started dozing off."

"He's on his way," Gabriel answers dismissively. "Not sure what the heck you've done to the guy to get him to play nursemaid." He chuckles at their baffled expressions. "Your demonic buddy is retrieving some items for your human needs." The angel plucks a Blow-Pop from the bowl and unwraps it. He winks at the hunters. "He's soft on ya," he says before popping the sucker into his mouth.

Sam shakes his head slightly. He steps out of the protective circle and stretches a little. He makes a face at his blood-stiffened shirts, and Jo grimaces in sympathy. "Sorry about that," she apologizes.

He offers a small smile and a shrug as if to say _"What can you do?"_

Gabriel snaps his fingers, and Jo looks over in time to see the archangel rolling his eyes with a look of exasperation.

"Oh! Thanks," Sam says, plucking at his suddenly restored shirt.

"Don't mention it," the angel mutters around his sucker. Fixing the hunters with a glare, he repeats more seriously, "Really. Don't."

Jo suppresses a smile. She wants to tell the angel that Crowley doesn't seem to be the only one going soft on them.

"About bloody time."

Crowley appears at the edge of the protective circle. He scowls at Sam as he runs his gaze over the hunter. Jo notices the demon has the straps of a dark sack in his hands. He looks at her and calls, "Catch!" He tosses the bag her way.

Inside, Jo finds several water bottles and some energy bars. She promptly hands a water to Sam. He stares at the bottle silently for a long while, as if it holds the answer to some important question. She watches him warily as she pulls out a water and an energy bar for herself.

Gabriel snaps his fingers and suddenly there's a collection of plush armchairs arranged around a little pot-bellied stove with a crackling wood fire. "Sit down, children. Story time!" Gabriel hops over the arm of one chair and settles onto the cushion. With quick motions of his fingers, the two hunters and Crowley find themselves abruptly seated. Gabriel ignores their glares. "Drink up, Sammy-kins, and regale us with your latest adventure through Heaven."

Sam's gaze drops to his water again. He twists off the cap but doesn't drink. After a minute he says, "You told me to find the gardener. Why?"

Gabriel affects a casual shrug, but there's a glint in his eyes that belies his indifference. "Joshua was the least likely to ride your ass back to Earth and make crispy critters out of your friends."

Sam seems unconvinced. "It had nothing to do with the fact that God apparently talks to him?"

Crowley scowls and leans back in his chair. "This should be good," he mutters crossly.

"Does he, now?" the angel says, like it's nothing worth mentioning. "Huh."

"Don't you want to know what God has to say?" Sam asks, something bitter in both his tone and expression. Jo feels disappointment twist in her stomach although she's unsure what she might have been hoping for.

Gabriel's irises are more golden than before as his gaze fixes on Sam. " _Does_ He have anything to say?" the angel asks flatly.

Sam's lips quirk up on one side in a parody of a smile. "Well, apparently He's on Earth. And He thinks the Apocalypse isn't His problem."

The angel jerks his gaze away and frowns tightly.

"That's all?" Jo asks, feeling a numb sense of disbelief.

Sam shrugs, looking exhausted. "Apparently getting Dean and I clear of Lucifer and bringing back Castiel was already more than we deserved."

"Marvelous," Crowley replies, tone dripping with sarcasm. "Not a surprise, is it? Now, if you have dying out of your system, we have work to do." He makes to stand but slowly sits back when Gabriel holds up a hand.

The trio watch the archangel with varying expressions of curiosity and frustration, waiting for him to speak.

Gabriel props his elbow on the arm of his chair and leans his chin on his hand. He sighs quietly. "Look. You schmucks want to end this thing. I want it to be over. I don't want either of my brothers to die." He flashes a sharp grin. "Not that you could kill either of them without me." His lips press into a thin, bloodless line for a moment. He continues, "There's another way. The Cage is still there, no one but my Father could destroy it, and you've heard how big _He_ is on stepping up."

Jo exchanges a surprised look with Sam. "You're saying we could lock Lucifer back in?"

"Getting him in will be the trick," Gabriel says with a short, humorless laugh. "The keys aren't exactly easy, either, but that's more manageable." He eyes Crowley. "I believe you have Famine's ring in your possession."

"The Horsemen's rings are the keys?" Sam asks.

"Ding-ding-ding! Knew there was a brain in that giant head of yours somewhere," Gabriel taunts, though the angel looks tired, and it seems the teasing comes with effort.

"Dean or Bobby has War's ring..." Sam muses aloud.

"So we need Pestilence and Death," Jo confirms.

The angel shakes his head with a small smile. "You damned fools." He stands up and spreads his arms. "There you have it, folks! Don't know what hope you have, can't say I recommend it, but you morons don't know when to quit." He shrugs. "I'm not coming after you when you get yourselves killed next time," he warns. "One-off deal, here."

"You _could_ help us," Jo points out. "We could use your help getting the rings."

Gabriel snorts quietly and looks around their little group. "What, Team Freak? Sweet-cheeks, this little misfit toys club you've got is adorable, but no. Not for me." He slips his hands into his pockets and leans back on his heels. "Nope," he says, popping the _p_. "I still have work to do, and there's fun to be had before the shit storm really hits. I'm not spending my time on some hopeless quest."

"Then why say anything at all?" Sam asks warily.

The angel frowns and doesn't quite meet the hunter's eyes when he replies, "Told you: I know you're not going to quit. If you're going to try, you might as well work on something that has the _slightest_ of chances of working."

Crowley stands and smooths the line of his suit. "Well. This is where we part, then."

Gabriel arches an eyebrow at the demon. "Yes," he says dryly, "I'd recommend not calling on me again."

"You could've ignored it," Crowley dismisses, unconcerned.

"Thank you," Jo tells Gabriel as she gets to her feet. His amber eyes fix on her, and she feels like he's looking into her soul; it makes her shiver uncomfortably.

He cocks his head and says, "Watch your step, kid."

Sam rises last. He continues to watch Gabriel with a contemplative expression. When he steps away from his chair, he holds out a hand to the angel, who goggles at it like it's an explosive. "Thank you," Sam says. "For helping me and letting us make our decision."

Gabriel scowls and turns his nose up at Sam's offer of a handshake. "What sort of chaos god would I be without letting you bastards fuck up with your decisions?"

Sam withdraws his hand, looking only mildly slighted. "We'll stop this," he promises. "And..." The angel eyes Sam warily as the word trails off. The hunter doesn't meet the angel's eyes as he finishes quietly, "I'm sorry. About your brothers."

Jo watches as Gabriel's expression shutters. He mutters, "Screw you." A moment later, he disappears, as do the furnishings he'd brought into existence.

After several moments of silence, Crowley slaps his palms together and asks, "What say we get out of here?"

"I need to, uh, call Dean," Sam says, sounding reluctant about it. "Castiel deserves to know that the God search won't lead anywhere."

"You know you'll be ripping that little angel's heart out?" Crowley says.

"You care?" Jo arches an eyebrow in surprise.

"Hardly, but I imagine the little angel that could will be next to useless with his faith dashed."

Sam runs a hand over his hair and sighs. "I don't think we should just keep it from him."

"Oh, and you're going to explain that you got this information... _how_?" Crowley prompts, tone incredulous.

Sam grimaces. "I'm figuring that part out yet," he admits quietly.

"Let's get out of here and figure out the call later," Jo encourages. "We'll need to be in touch to get War's ring, anyway." The other two nod in wordless agreement, and the matter drops for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favorite trope: Dysfunctional Winchester family. Comment about demons taking an interest in Sam as a kid comes from (one of?) the comics.
> 
> Some dialogue in this chapter was adapted from "Dark Side of the Moon" and "Hammer of the Gods."
> 
> [Most recent edit: July 17, 2018]


	10. a small inner voice said 'you do have a choice'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue adapted from "Point of No Return"

Jo knows something's wrong when Sam moves the phone from his ear and frowns down at the screen. He makes a few quick keystrokes before raising it again. After a moment, he lets out a small sigh of relief. "Hey, Bobby. Do y—"

Jo can't make out the words, but she can hear Bobby yelling. Sam's face pales, and his eyes widen in shock. "N-no. He wouldn't..." He looks nauseous. "Why would he...?" He closes his eyes as Bobby's voice raises again. Sam shakes his head a little and visibly swallows. "I'm coming. We'll find him, stop him before he does anything stupid." Bobby says something more, but the volume has decreased. "I swear. We'll be there soon."

"What's going on?" Jo demands as Sam hangs up.

Sam turns to her with a haunted gaze. "Dean's gone. Probably to say 'yes' to Michael."

" _What?_ " Jo feels like she's been sucker-punched.

"Fucking brilliant," Crowley growls from behind her. "Come on, then. Best retrieve the idiotic bastard."

"I'm trying to figure out where he'd go," Sam says, running trembling fingers through his hair.

Crowley steps between the two humans and gives Sam an exasperated glare. "I can find where he is. Stop tugging your hair out, Moose."

"How the hell would you know?" Jo asks suspiciously.

"You know me well enough to know I'd hedge my bets, love." Crowley arches an eyebrow at Sam. "Now, are you going to yell at me for invading the privacy of your charming brother's car, or are you going to leave quietly?"

Sam shakes his head. "I don't give a shit. Get me to Dean."

Crowley smirks. "I knew there was a reason I could stomach your company." He glances at Jo in silent question.

"I'll pack up here if you can come back to get me," Jo tells them. Crowley tips his head in acknowledgment as Sam reaches out to grasp the demon's wrist. Crowley looks irritated by the grip, but the two vanish without argument.

Jo moves around the safe house quickly, packing the most essential items. She tucks a few of the tomes Crowley has provided for research into her bag. She empties a bag of Sam's clothes to store their hunting weaponry. She's debating packing the spell ingredients Crowley has stored in a little spice cabinet when the demon reappears some time later. 

The demon looks ruffled and irritated. "Ready?"

"Good enough," Jo says. "Let me grab the bags." He follows her into the living room where the bags are settled on the couch. As soon as the bag straps are over her shoulders, he places a hand on her arm. A moment later, they land abruptly, hard enough that Jo's teeth click together. She shoots Crowley a questioning look, but he doesn't explain the irregular landing.

They stand a few meters from Bobby's front steps. No one's in sight. "You find Dean?"

Crowley scowls at her. "Of course. I'm sure Moose dragged him inside." His eyes narrow at the front door, and Jo notices that his fingers are twitching like he's tempted to draw a weapon or cast a spell. Jo suddenly understands the problem.

"Bobby's on top of all the warding possible." Crowley gives her a sharp glare. "Sorry. Guess you won't want to chance walking in there right now."

The demon lifts his chin and waves a dismissive hand. "Paranoid hunters. Go deal with the elder Winchester's existential angst. Hopefully by the time this shit is sorted, I'll have our lead on Pestilence."

"Sounds like a plan," Jo agrees. She thinks that Crowley might have the easier task. "Good luck." He gives her a withering glare and disappears.

Jo pulls the bags higher on her shoulders before moving forward to get the lay of the land. She hopes her mom isn't here. It will be crowded and noisy enough with the reactions to Dean's stunt without adding her mom to the mix.

She walks up the steps and finds the door wide open. Down the hall she can hear a loud exchange, though the words aren't clear yet. She slips inside and drops the bags off before closing the front door. She follows the raised voices to Bobby's study, and the first clear words she makes out are:

"What the hell else should I think? I found out from a _fangirl_ that you'd fucking died!"

"That just— How did you know?" Sam sounds stunned.

Jo walks through the doorway to find Sam staring at Dean in confusion. Bobby sits behind his desk with a deep scowl on his face. Dean paces in a tight circle, fists clenched.

"Did you forget about the prophet we know?" Dean retorts. "The guy's still writing!"

Sam's face pales, and he drops his gaze. "Look, there's nothing you could've done."

"You don't know that!" Dean snaps as he comes to abrupt halt. He catches sight of Jo, and his eyes narrow in her direction. "You couldn't call me?" he demands. "My brother bites it at the hands of two hunters, and you can't pick up the fucking phone to _let me know?_ "

"Whoa, Dean, back off," Sam interrupts, stepping in front of Jo. She wants to tell him she can fight her own battles, but she hangs back for the moment. "It's done. I'm okay, I'm _here._ Jo made sure I made it back alright."

Dean snorts dismissively and looks away, his glower settling on a stack of books. "Yeah, 'alright.' Seems like you're doing just _fine_ with your freak show, so let me get out of your hair."

Bobby finally speaks up. "What the hell happened to you?"

Dean turns around, spreading his arms. " _Reality!_ This thing just keeps ramping up, doesn't matter what we do. All we're doing is spinning our wheels, and the world keeps sinking deeper towards hell. Nuclear's our only option left. Michael will gank the Devil, and we'll save a boatload of people."

"But not _all_ of them," Bobby counters. "We'll think of something else."

Dean laughs sharply, and Sam flinches. "Like _what?_ We've been looking for months, some of the best damn minds in the hunter's community, and we ain't got shit. Sammy's off with his new pals and has nothing to show for it—"

"That's not true," Jo breaks in. Dean's glare moves to her, and Bobby frowns. She nudges Sam aside so that she has a clear view of the others. "We have a lead. We can lock Lucifer down, back in the Cage."

"Oh really? How, with a miracle from a MIA God?" Dean's voice is heavy with sarcasm.

"The Horsemen's rings," Sam explains. "They act as keys, so we can get the Cage back open and... shove the Devil back in."

Dean stares at his brother a long, silent moment, expression blank. Eventually he asks, "And who told you that? Your demon butt-buddy?"

Sam's jaw clenches. "Gabriel."

Rolling his eyes, Dean scoffs. "Really? And you think you can trust some runaway coward? Besides, who the hell is going to manage to shove Satan in? Michael's the best bet. Shove the bastard back into his timeout or shank him, I don't give a damn."

"You can't give up, son," Bobby says wearily.

Dean turns on the hunter with a sneer. "You're not my father, and you ain't in my shoes."

Bobby's expression is grim as he opens a drawer and pulls out an old revolver. Jo feels a wash of cold go through her as Bobby sets a bullet purposefully on its end in front of the gun. Dean looks frustrated, Sam concerned.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean snarks, crossing his arms over his chest.

The older hunter's gaze locks on Dean, fierce determination in his eyes. "Every morning I look at that round, think, 'Maybe today's the day I flip off the lights.' Every. Day." Jo shifts forward, breath catching painfully in her chest. Sam's hand finds hers, and their palms meet. "But I don't do it. I _never_ do because I promised _you_ I wouldn't give up. Don't you dare make me regret making that promise."

Dean huffs, but Jo can tell by the way he quickly turns his head away that Bobby's confession has unsettled them all.

Bobby inhales sharply and finally looks away from Dean. "Sounds like there's an option we need to hear about."

Jo squeezes Sam's hand lightly when she feels him about to pull away. He relaxes back into her hold and draws a deep breath.

"We talked to Gabriel again," he starts.

 

\- - -

 

"Boys!" Bobby shouts from down the hall. Sam turns to go but doesn't leave the kitchen until he's sure Dean is following.

They end up back in the study where Bobby is staring in confusion at Castiel, who's standing in the middle of drifting paper with someone hanging off his shoulders. The angel's lips thin as his gaze lands on Dean.

"What's going on?" Dean asks.

Sam hears Jo coming down the hall as he steps forward to take the unconscious (at least, Sam hopes he's just unconscious) man from Castiel. When Sam gets a look at the man's face, he gasps in surprise.

"Who is it?" Bobby asks gruffly.

Sam settles Adam Milligan on the couch, still staring in shock. "It's our _brother._ "

" _What?_ " Jo asks from the doorway.

"Adam?"

Dean mutters a curse and turns to Castiel. "What's this about?"

The angel's tone is cooler than his usual steady intonation. "Angels. Apparently they have abandoned their pursuit of you."

Sam looks over at that, taking in his brother's shuttered expression and clenched fists. Bobby wheels closer to take a look at Adam. The young man is breathing normally, which is a relief.

"I thought I was Michael's true Vessel. What good is Adam to them?" Dean asks.

Castiel looks unconcerned with Dean's irritation. "It need only be of the Winchester line."

Sam stares at the angel, nonplussed. "But then..."

Bobby arches an eyebrow at the angel. "Then what's this obsession with Dean and Sam being assigned specific roles?"

Castiel tilts his head in acknowledgment. "The Vessels have been prepared differently. Were Adam Milligan to consume demon blood, he would be a suitable vessel for Lucifer. Had Azazel not fed Sam blood as an infant, he may have been suited for Michael as a Righteous Man."

Jo crouches down next to Adam and checks his pulse. She directs a frown at Castiel. "Are you sure these aren't just arbitrary rules the nuts upstairs are cooking up?" she demands.

"So it is written," Castiel intones, lips pursing briefly.

Sam makes a small gesture at Jo to silently ask her to back off. It's an interesting thing to consider, but it's not important at the moment.

The angel steps close to Adam and rests a hand on the kid's chest. After a brief glow of light, Castiel straightens up, swaying momentarily. "He is protected from Heaven's sight," he announces roughly. Sam touches his own chest, remembering the Enochian symbols carved into his ribs.

"So, what? I'm just interchangeable?" Dean scowls. "This is _bullshit._ The angels decide it's energy better spent raising my half-brother from the dead just so Michael has a suit to prom? What use is that? Why not just do that from the start?"

"I doubt it is ideal," Castiel replies, eyes cold when he stares at Dean. Sam's surprised his brother doesn't flinch. "But perhaps they are desperate. Maybe they _wrongly_ assumed you would be brave enough to withstand them."

Dean's expression shifts to irritation and he snaps, "You know what? _Blow me,_ Cas."

"Everyone's been harping on this Destiny-with-a-capital-D and _now_ the players are changing?" Bobby speaks up, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Something isn't right," Sam agrees.

"Whoa, easy there." Jo's voice draws everyone's attention back to the couch. Adam pushes himself upright, looking around with wide, wary eyes.

"Who the hell are you?" He eyes the group suspiciously. Sam takes a step back to give him a little space. "Where am I?"

"You're safe, kid, take it easy," Dean replies. His posture is more relaxed now, expression easing into something meant to set Adam at ease. "This is, uh, gotta sound a lot crazy... but we're actually your brothers."

Sam nods briefly, feeling awkward. "Yeah, um. John Winchester was our father too. I'm Sam and—"

"Right, and I'm sure that's Dean." Adam's expression is tight as he glances between the two brothers. Sam exchanges a startled glance with Dean. "I know who you are."

"How?" They'd been sure Adam and his mother were dead when they first 'met.'

Adam crosses his arms. "They warned me about you."

Jo asks, "Who did?"

Adam keeps his attention on Sam and Dean. "The angels. Now where the hell is Zachariah?"

Sam grimaces, recalling his latest undesirable encounter with the angel. "I think we need to sit down and talk..."

Dean cuts off Adam's protest. "Start from the beginning, tell us what happened."

Adam looks wholly unimpressed. Bobby leans forward to slap Dean's arm. "Stop crowding the kid. Let's move this to the kitchen and get some space."

Sam offers, "Would you, ah, maybe like something to drink...?" Adam stares at him with an unreadable expression. Sam decides to take that as a no. Averting his gaze, he mumbles, "Let's, um, get a place to sit..."

 

\- - -

 

"How is he doing?" Bobby asks as Sam appears in the kitchen doorway.

Jo examines Sam for signs of what he's feeling. Since their arrival, he's seemed to put up emotional barriers; she knows he must be feeling wrecked underneath. Facing Dean has been something Sam dreaded since she first caught up with him. After Famine...

Sam shakes his head. His eyes seem empty as he offers the ghost of a smile. "Dean's not happy being locked up," he mumbles. He goes to the fridge for a beer.

"Adam's in the other room," Jo assures him. She's taken care to check on the young man every few minutes. A house full of flight risks is wearing on everyone's nerves.

"How are _you_ doing?" Bobby asks, gaze running carefully over Sam's slumped shoulders and bowed head.

Sam takes a drink and doesn't meet their gazes. He's quiet for a long while; Jo wonders if he'll even answer.

Eventually, he says, "I almost forgot what it's like."

Jo's heart lurches in her chest as she detects the note of pain in his voice. Bobby's fingers curl tightly over the arms of his chair. "What's that?" the older hunter prompts quietly.

Sam smiles bitterly at his beer. "That lack of faith."

"Your brother's a moron," Bobby grumbles. "Just give it a little time, and we'll get his head out of his ass again."

"Do you think so?" Sam asks wearily. "Even when he's ready to fight this thing again, it doesn't change that at the heart of things, Dean doesn't..." He trails off and heaves a shaky breath.

Jo glares at the table, jaw clenched. She could punch Dean for the emotional turmoil he's putting Sam through, but turning on each other won't do any good.

"He isn't thinking straight," Bobby says gruffly. "You've more than proved yourself, Sam."

Sam shrugs jerkily, obviously unconvinced. "We need to keep Adam safe." He changes the subject. "He's vulnerable. He doesn't understand that the angels are just using him."

"We'll look out for him. Just not sure we'll be winning any points with him over our lock-down hospitality."

Sam's lips twitch in a sardonic smile. "Welcome to the family."

 

\- - -

 

Jo argues with Bobby. It's better than waiting around silently and giving into the nerves that are tearing at them both. The Winchesters and Castiel left what feels like hours ago in pursuit of Adam. Jo is still furious that Sam refused to let her come along. She also questions his decision to let Dean go.

"I'm not willingly letting a damn demon into my house!" Bobby snaps, not for the first time.

Jo wishes she could jump to her feet and pace, but she hates the look Bobby gets when he eyes someone walking around. She raps her knuckles on the kitchen table and leans forward. "He's been working with me and Sam for _months,_ we're good. It'll be a hell of a lot easier to share information and talk without shuffling outside whenever he comes around," she counters.

" _No._ And you ain't changing my mind, girl, so stop."

"You're just being a stubborn jackass," Jo accuses, ignoring the sharp look directed at her. "I'm not saying you take down all your protections and welcome the guy into your heart. I just want you to be open to working with us on this."

Bobby crosses his arms. "What am I supposed to do? Clear a little area for your demon buddy to hang out?"

Jo throws her hands in the air. "I don't know! Sure, clear some sigils to allow him into the kitchen or something! We'll work something out. We just need _something_ so we're not stuck standing out in the yard to make plans."

Bobby's mouth settles in a tight line, eyes fierce as he glares across the table.

She runs her fingers through her hair, feeling exasperated. "Jesus, Bobby. If we're sticking around, we need all of us in on this. I'm not just kicking Crowley to the curb after everything he's done for us."

His eyes narrow further. "Tell me again what he's getting out of this not-deal?"

"Life and freedom to pursue lofty office-climbing goals in Hell," Jo answers easily. "We're hardly the only ones who'd like to see the world keep turning."

"It all smells fishy," Bobby grumbles.

Jo purses her lips as she thinks through her response. "We work together. I'd even dare to say we've got some mutual respect going on. Sam and I will vouch for him, and you can keep a close eye on him. We're not just doing this all blind."

Bobby shakes his head and mutters something under his breath.

"It ain't wise to trust a demon."

"I just want you to trust me and Sam." Jo sighs. "Keep a close eye on Crowley, probably not a bad idea. But we _need_ him on this."

Bobby frowns grumpily into the middle distance. Jo feels riled up, but she can tell she's finally making headway in the argument. Bobby isn't stupid, and he's good at strategy. She's seen it before, and she feels confident he'll come to the conclusion that they need to include Crowley in their plans.

She sits back in her chair and reaches for her bottle of beer, which has long gone warm during their lengthy discussion-slash-argument.

"Guys! Little help here?" a shout comes from outside.

Jo jumps to her feet, ignoring the slosh of beer as it topples and hits her jeans. Bobby curses as he bumps against the table while trying to maneuver his wheelchair.

She flings open the back door and jumps down the steps. A few meters from the house stands Dean, Sam, and Crowley. Sam's arm is around Dean's shoulders, and he sags against his older brother. Crowley's on Sam's other side, his hand on the tall hunter's back. The demon's face is an indifferent mask, but the way his gaze is focused on Sam once again hints that he has some regard for the hunter.

"Are you okay?" she demands as she rushes forward. She puts a hand against Sam's chest and tries to get a good look at his face. Blood stains his lips and chin where it looks to have been dripping from his mouth. His eyes are glassy, and his skin is pale. "Stupid question."

Dean shakes his head as he curses, "Fucking Zachariah."

Sam mumbles, "You killed 'im."

"Damn right I did!" Dean snaps. "We're getting you inside."

Jo notices Crowley's shoulders tense. His hand falls away from Sam's back. She turns her head to call over her shoulder, "Bobby? Can you clear a room?"

He narrows his eyes at her from the top of the ramp, but he nods sharply and turns his chair to the door.

"Just a minute and you can come in," Jo tells the demon.

Sam muffles a cough, and Jo is concerned to see a few drops of fresh blood spray past his lips. Although she's loathe to bring up the obvious absence, she asks, "What happened?"

Dean shakes his head sharply, jaw tight as he leads Sam towards the house. Jo shoots a look at Crowley, but he doesn't appear to have any answers to offer.

"Hang on, Sammy," Dean murmurs, expression tense as he holds Sam through another cough.

 

\- - -

 

Sam wakes up in a comfortable bed, covered with a handmade quilt. He blinks at the familiar surroundings, feeling mildly confused about waking up at Bobby's. Since his rushed arrival with Jo, he's managed to catch a few short naps on the couch downstairs, but there hasn't been time to lie down.

He clears his throat and winces a little at the taste of blood. Pushing himself into a sitting position, he looks around the room with a frown. No one is sitting nearby, as would be the case if his condition was critical. He no longer feels like death warmed over. His memories are fuzzy, but he definitely remembers feeling certain that he was dying ( _again_ ).

It takes a couple of minutes for Sam to get himself upright and find his jeans. He feels... fine. Better than fine, actually. Besides the lingering taste of blood in his mouth and the memory of his insides trying to tear him apart, there's no evidence of what Zachariah did.

 _Did Castiel come back?_ Sam wonders as he opens the door. He can't imagine the humans would be able to do anything about angel-induced internal injuries.

He makes it halfway down the stairs before he hears anyone.

"Sam!" Jo comes to a quick stop, breaking her stride for the front door. Her expression brightens with relief, and she hurries up the stairs to give him a hug. She lets go of him after a moment and slaps his arm. "About time you woke up," she admonishes.

"I'm alright," he assures as they walk down the steps together.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

Sam's eyes widen in surprise when his gaze catches on Ellen, who is standing in the middle of the hall with her arms crossed.

"E-Ellen... It's good to, ah, see you," Sam fumbles over his words. For the moment, all of his questions disappear in light of trying to determine whether or not Ellen is out for his blood.

" _Mom_..." Jo warns.

"I'm glad you're okay, Sam," Ellen says, expression unreadable. "You sticking around?"

Sam bites his lip, uncertain about the answer.

"Sure as hell better!" Dean's shouts as he stalks out of Bobby's study. He makes his way past Ellen and marches right up to Sam. After a tense moment, Dean embraces him tightly and slaps a hand against Sam's back. "Goddamn moron," he mutters before stepping back.

"What happened?" Sam asks. He rubs at his stomach, recalling the pain he'd been in when last conscious. "I feel... good."

"You should," Jo says, her lips curved up on one side in a small smile. "Crowley fixed you up."

He stares at her in surprise. He tries to reconcile the idea of a demon, even one he has reluctantly begun to acknowledge as a friend, healing him.

"No," Dean counters, "it was Bobby."

Sam looks quickly between his brother and Jo, who are busy glaring at each other. "What?" he asks, though he has a sinking feeling that he knows what happened.

Ellen shakes her head in the background as Jo turns to Sam and starts explaining. "They were hounding him about fixing you because Castiel is missing, but demons don't have the ability to heal. _But_ Crowley's a crossroads demon. With a sealed deal, he'd have access to whatever abilities needed to complete the deal."

Sam grabs for the stairs' banister, feeling unsteady. "Bobby..."

"Are you just gonna stand out here yammering?"

Sam lifts his head to seek out Bobby's gaze and is startled when he has to look higher than expected. The older hunter is _standing_ in the hall, hands on his hips.

"Bobby?" Sam feels his jaw drop.

"Get yourself into the kitchen. There's some lunch leftovers you can heat up," Bobby says.

"I don't understand," Sam says, still staring.

Jo sends him a small smile. "Crowley added something to the contract."

"Yeah? Don't you wonder what else he weaseled in there?" Dean mutters darkly.

Ellen beckons Sam forward. "Come on, Sam. I hear you've been out for over a day, it's time you eat."

Still feeling baffled, Sam trails after Ellen as Dean and Jo start into an argument. Bobby has already disappeared into the kitchen.

"It's not supposed to be permanent," Ellen says.

"What isn't?"

Bobby answers as he pulls items from the fridge, "Your buddy says he intends to return my soul."

"He can do that?" Sam asks, nonplussed.

"So he claims." Ellen waves Sam to a chair at the table. "We need to look into the details."

"Dean don't trust a word of it," Bobby says. "Jo's been saying Crowley will follow through."

"What do you think?" Sam questions, genuinely curious.

Bobby shrugs. "Ain't worrying over it right now. It's the end of the world. Seems stupid to get all sentimental over one old man's soul."

"Bobby..." Sam's gaze drops to the table. His hands curl into tight fists against his thighs. "You didn't have to do this."

"You were dying, Sam," Ellen tells him bluntly.

Sam resists the urge to chuckle. "It doesn't stick. I'd have been okay."

The loud bang of a pan hitting the range startles Sam into looking up. Bobby's facing away, but Sam can imagine his expression based on the tension in his shoulders and the white-knuckled grip on the pan's handle.

"Nobody's gonna be dying under my roof, you hear me?" Bobby snaps.

Sam ducks his head and swallows quickly. "Got it," he mumbles. "And... thanks."

Ellen leans back in her chair, hooking an arm over its back. She settles in as she fixes Sam with a stare. "So, now that you're here... Where have you and my daughter been?"

Sam eyes her warily. He doubts he'll escape a lecture. There is little to hide now, if they'll all be together from here on out. "We were in Oregon. Crowley had a house set up with heavy warding. We, uh — Jo and I — were still out on hunts, but it was a base of operations."

"Heard about taking Famine down," Ellen remarks with an unreadable expression. Sam can't meet her eyes at that. He chews on the inside of his lip as he offers a little shrug. He doesn't know what she wants from him. Eventually she continues, "You both could've come back with Dean and Cas. Why didn't you?"

Sam hunches over the table, grimacing at the scratched surface. He hesitates to speak, wondering if Ellen really knows _all_ of the details. If she doesn't, he isn't sure he wants to tell her.

Bobby breaks the silence. "You didn't want to be back here?" he asks gruffly.

"I... couldn't do it again," Sam admits quietly. His hands clench together in his lap. He doesn't look at either of them. "I couldn't be in that room again. Last time—" the words get trapped in his throat. _Last time, Cas let me out. I was manipulated into going after Lilith. I started the Apocalypse._

He feels their eyes on him. He isn't sure of the expressions, but Bobby sounds cautious as he asks, "And Crowley let you detox?"

Sam half-smiles at the table. "Yeah." He thinks about the hellish seventy-two hours spent in the basement, the room bare of anything but the wards covering most of the surfaces to keep Sam contained. He doubts that the demon had been there the whole time, but any memory of reality includes Crowley. "He even helped," Sam recalls. "I couldn't do all the warding myself."

"Wonders never cease," Ellen mutters, mostly to herself. Sam flicks his gaze to her. She is looking at Bobby with a raised eyebrow.

"Gotta wonder what goes on in a demon's brain," Bobby comments. When Sam looks over, the older hunter is shaking his head.

Sam fidgets uncomfortably in his seat. Finally he says, "He's definitely different."

"So what do you think?" Ellen prompts. When Sam looks back to her, she clarifies, "What he's saying about letting the soul thing go."

"I have no idea if he's able to do that." Sam frowns. He surprises himself when he realizes that is his only doubt. He can't quite make himself admit his thoughts aloud: if Crowley can, he'll keep that promise. "But... by now I know he'll help finish this. We have an alternative now. We don't have to resort to a knock-out brawl."

Bobby snorts quietly. He brings a full plate over to the table and shoves it in front of Sam. "We'll see about that. Been doing some cursory looking, seems like we could figure it out. We haven't hit the details."

Sam digs into the food, grateful now that his stomach is letting him know how hungry he is. 

"Next time the demon drops by, we'll need to lay out an actual plan." Ellen looks over her shoulder when Jo's and Dean's voices raise out in the hall. She barks, "Cool off, you two!"

Sam winces. "Why're they so mad at each other?"

Ellen turns back to him, rolling her eyes. "Gee, couldn't be because your brother hates demons with a righteous fury suited to his vessel status, and my daughter has the damn fool notion it's a good idea to try defending Crowley's 'integrity' or some damn thing."

"Ah." Sam shoves food in his mouth to give himself time before he responds. Ellen's watching him with an expectant look. Bobby joins them at the table, bringing beers. After a few minutes avoiding conversation by eating, Sam says, "Probably doesn't help that neither of us was willing to come back, huh?"

"What could make you think that?" Ellen asks dryly.

Sam grimaces at his plate. He can't meet Ellen's glare. "I'm... _really_ sorry, Ellen. If it means anything... I kept trying to get her to come back."

Ellen's snort interrupts anything more Sam might say. He glances up to gauge her reaction. The older hunter crosses her arms and glares at him. "Don't be an idiot. My daughter's stubborn as a mule — part of why she's arguing with your brother out there." She raises her voice as she turns her head towards the doorway. "I said cool it, kids!" Sam bites his lip to hold back a startled laugh. The voices in the hall finally cut off. Someone stomps loudly down the hall and the front door bangs. Ellen sighs before turning back to Sam. "At this point, what matters to me is that you looked out for my girl."

They sit in a tense stare-off for long moments. Sam shifts in his seat, wondering uneasily what Ellen expects him to say, and if he can come out of this without too many reprimands. He knows he'll be catching more hell from his brother, later.

Ellen's shoulders relax, and her expression loosens. "Look, Sam. I sure as hell ain't happy. I was downright _furious_ at you sometimes, but Jo's lookin' pretty good, and she's healthy enough to be bitching at me for asking after her. So it looks like you were a decent partner. Couldn't ask for much more given the circumstances."

Sam feels relieved and a little uncomfortable. It feels odd to get what amounts to praise when he's been expecting shouted reprimands and perhaps even a demand to stay the hell away from Jo.

"Oh, but Sam?" Ellen's tone hardens, and the glare is back. "You run off with my daughter again and I _will_ tan your hide."

"Yes, Ma'am," Sam finds himself replying immediately. His gaze darts to Bobby, who seems to have been doing his damnedest to vanish onto the sidelines during the conversation.

They hear footsteps heading through the living room. Jo stops in the doorway and leans against the wall. She eyes Sam and Ellen warily. "I didn't hear shouting, and there's no signs of blood. Didn't you have it out yet?"

"I got off easy," Sam says with a crooked smile. His gaze darts to Ellen and away again. "Unless something happens in my sleep."

Ellen leans over and pats his cheek gently. "Honey, if I wanted, I'd go at you straight. We're done here."

Jo shudders dramatically. "You're giving a creepy meaning to the 'mama bear' thing," she comments. It reminds Sam of seeing Ash. The thought makes something in his chest tighten. 

His expression must give something away because Bobby asks, "What now?"

Suddenly he's not feeling hungry anymore. Sam pushes aside the plate and reaches a hand up to rub his forehead. "So I get that somehow Chuck's girlfriend got a hold of Dean about the..." he pauses on a grimace, "Heaven thing, but how much...?"

Bobby's expression draws tight. Ellen looks suspiciously between them. "I've got the feeling I'm missing something."

Sam looks to Bobby. "You didn't get any more info?" he asks plaintively, wishing they could skip this upcoming awkward and uncomfortable conversation.

The older hunter pins him with a sharp look. "Dean's the one who got the call, and you'll excuse him if he blew up after hearing you'd _died._ "

" _What?_ " Ellen shouts.

Jo sighs and straightens up. "Better get Dean if we're rehashing this," she notes grimly.

As her daughter exits the room, Ellen demands, "What the _hell_ happened?"

Sam covers his face with his hands as he leans his elbows on the table. Voice coming out muffled, he asks, "We got any liquor for this conversation?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It always bugged me that somehow, without any apparent help, Sam magically escaped the room without any lingering effects. Also, how the hell did the boys have the Impala when, as I understand it, Castiel transported them halfway across the States?
> 
> Anyway, those bothersome questions thankfully gave me a new way for Bobby to make a deal with Crowley.
> 
> [Most recent edit: July 18, 2018]


	11. all these broken pieces fit together

Jo ignores the open seat beside her mom on the couch, opting instead to settle on the arm of the overstuffed chair where Sam sits. He glances at her briefly, and she thinks there's a hint of gratefulness under his pinched expression. She places a hand on his shoulder, as much to balance herself as to offer him an anchor for what she knows will be a difficult story. 

Dean glowers at her when he comes into the living room with beers and sees the seat closest to Sam is occupied. Bobby shoves the older Winchester to the end of the couch opposite Ellen before pulling in a kitchen chair from the other room for himself. They sit in awkward silence for a while as the beers get passed around. Jo notices Bobby has a bottle of scotch tucked against the leg of the coffee table, too. 

"Well?" Dean prompts stiffly.

"I take it Gabriel got involved, given the info you got on the rings," Bobby offers a more helpful lead-in. Until now, they have only skimmed over the plan Gabriel provided.

Jo answers the implied question. "After Roy and Walt found us, Crowley and I bugged out from the hotel. We didn't know what was happening, so he said..." she trails off, needing a moment to ease her racing heartbeat. The memory of Sam's torn-up torso and cooling form curled in the backseat haunt her. "He suggested an angel could make a connection, try to reach Sam in Heaven. We couldn't be sure if someone would follow him back to try retrieving his body."

"You knew he'd be alright?" Ellen asks, surprised.

Sam stiffens under Jo's hand, but she does her best not to draw attention to it. "It was a good guess." She explains, "If Lucifer needs his Vessel and everyone's invested in the showdown, it wouldn't do to lose the person needed to give consent." She squeezes her hand on Sam's shoulder, glad to feel some of his tension releasing. "I hadn't even thought about Gabriel. He wasn't happy with us when we figured out who he was. I'm not entirely sure how Crowley got him to agree, but we got the help we needed."

Ellen turns a narrow-eyed look at Bobby. "I think you haven't been keeping me as up-to-date as you've claimed," she accuses.

"What am I, the Armageddon news anchor?" Bobby rolls his eyes. "Ask them to catch you up. Yes, they do mean the _archangel._ "

"Who _apparently_ has been screwing around as a trickster demigod for who knows how long," Dean grouches.

"We could probably use a pick-me-up story after this," Jo mutters to Sam. He looks back at her in mild annoyance. She just shrugs, figuring that even if _they_ didn't like TV hell-land, the others will probably get a kick out of some of the scenarios.

Bobby gets them back on topic. "What did you find out in Heaven?"

Licking his lips nervously, Sam says, "I followed Gabriel's advice to go looking for the Garden. I, ah, came across Ash on the way. He... he helped me figure out the way." He sends a shaky smile in Ellen's direction. "He was glad to hear you're holding up."

"What did it...?" Dean seems to bite back the rest of his question. His gaze darts away and he frowns.

Sam shrugs, and Jo can feel a small tremor under her hand. "It's not so important," he mutters, clearly wanting to avoid the details of Heaven. "Anyway, Joshua ended up finding me. He... sometimes talks to God."

"What?" The stares turned Sam's way are skeptical or surprised.

"Joshua's apparently the keeper of the Garden of Eden," Jo adds. "We think Gabriel had an idea that the Gardener still had a direct line."

"Well?" Bobby prompts. "What'd he say?"

Sam bows his head, his hair hanging over his face as he stares down at his hands. "Apparently God helped enough. We're on our own."

" _Bullshit!_ " Dean curses, standing abruptly. His fingers clench into fists at his side. "What the fuck has _He_ done?"

Sam's voice comes more quietly when he answers, "He brought back Castiel. He's the reason we got clear of the Cage's opening."

"Well that sure didn't help us!" Dean turns sharply on his heel and begins a tight pace around the minimal free space of the living room. "So that's it? So-called God's 'greatest creation' and He's washed his hands of it all?"

"He's on Earth. That's all Joshua had to say."

"Did you tell him to fuck off?"

Sam huffs what may have been a laugh, though it doesn't sound amused. Jo moves her hand down to gently rub between his shoulders.

"Did you get any hint of something helpful?" Bobby asks, sounding resigned.

Jo answers this time. "Only what we told you about Gabriel's suggestion. He's about as happy as we are about God keeping out of things."

"How can we trust this ring thing is even legit?" Dean demands. He stops pacing and crosses his arms. He glowers at everyone. "What does he even care? Trickster or archangel, he's a first class dick."

Jo feels Sam flinch under her hand, and she feels the protective anger simmering in her again. She catches Dean's eyes with a fierce glare. "Do you really think we're the only ones who want to keep walking the planet?"

"The angels sure as hell don't give a shit," Dean argues. "Gabriel's shown he doesn't care about human life, either. What's in it for him?"

"He doesn't want his brothers killed, Dean," Sam says wearily. "And he happens to like it here. Maybe he's not the best ally... I mean, I don't trust him all that much, but if you think about it, what's a trickster going to do without humans?"

"That's some disturbing logic," Ellen remarks, expression tight. Jo shoots her mom an exasperated look; Ellen catches it and rolls her eyes. "Makes sense, but it ain't all that comforting."

Bobby re-enters the conversation. "It does seem like enough to try. I've been poking into the possibilities, I think there's some legitimacy to it. The rings will hold significant power, so even if you're doubting that they'll open the Cage—" Bobby directs at Dean "—then they'll be useful in this fight in _some_ damn way."

"I don't like it," Dean grumbles, but he looks aside, backing down from the argument.

"You have two rings so far?" Ellen asks.

"War's and Famine's," Jo confirms with a nod. She nudges Sam to get his attention. "Crowley's out searching for leads on Pestilence and Death."

Ellen grimaces. "I hate to think what havoc they're wreaking given what we saw with War."

"And Famine," Dean mutters under his breath. His expression is drawn and pale as he stares at the floor.

"It'll be one advantage of having a non-human on the team," Bobby says.

"Hey! Cas—" Dean cuts himself off. Jo can see a muscle in his jaw clench. They haven't heard anything from the angel since Van Nuys.

"Point is," Bobby continues, voice slightly less gruff, "a non-mortal probably 's gonna have a better chance facing the walking plague and Death itself."

"I have no desire to stare Death in his beady little eyes," Crowley says. Everyone's attention darts to the demon suddenly standing beside Bobby's chair. Dean's glower is murderous, but he doesn't say anything. Crowley glances down at Bobby. "Figured you'd be tired of sitting."

"Fuck off," Bobby returns, surprisingly without much heat. Jo and Sam exchange an apprehensive glance.

"So who do you expect to take out Death?" Ellen asks with a frown.

Crowley arches an eyebrow at that. "Oh, we don't 'take out' Death. However, Lucifer's got the bastard chained and that's no way to endear yourself to a being older than God."

Sam glances at Jo again before speaking. "You think he might hand over the ring without a fight?"

"Doubt it'll be a freebie, but a fight? No." Crowley glares at Dean when the hunter scoffs loudly. 

"What about Pestilence?" Jo asks before they have an argument on their hands.

The demon frowns and crosses his arms. "Uncouth, life-sucking slag. You'd best have me along for him." He doesn't look happy about the prospect.

"If you're not going to help with Death, what do you expect us to do?" Sam asks.

The demon aims a smirk at Dean as he answers the question; "Can't have the 'true Vessels' die before the big showdown."

Dean's expression darkens. "Given that Michael's probably going around in an Adam suit now, that doesn't inspire confidence," he snipes. Sam flinches under Jo's hand.

Crowley rolls his eyes dramatically. "Call it a hunch, then. Or a bet on your ludicrous Winchester luck. You prats should have a sit-down with the old bastard."

"Dean, let it go," Sam says. He turns his gaze to Crowley once Dean closes his mouth. "We track down Death while you find Pestilence?"

"No need to track, darling," the demon replies with a smug twitch of his lips. "I've a lead on both."

"That's suspiciously quick," Dean says. Sam and Bobby send him a warning glare, which he ignores.

Ellen says, "You're not doing this alone."

Crowley stares at her like she's an idiot. Jo holds back a groan, knowing this will not bode well for future interactions. "Don't be daft, Mother Bear. I'm not sacrificing myself for you lot."

"Gee, that makes a rousing recruiting speech," Ellen returns with heavy sarcasm.

Jo resists the urge to groan. "Look, Sam and I will go with him after—"

Two voices interrupt her: Ellen interjects, "You ain't going anywhere without me!" Crowley says, "Divide and conquer, love."

When everyone quiets, Bobby asks, "What the hell's your plan, then?"

"Two horsemen, two fronts," Crowley answers. "Moose and Squirrel take Death to dinner, I take the rest for inoculations."

Dean opens his mouth, starting another argument, though Jo ignores it as she turns to Sam. Bobby joins the other raised voices as she gets Sam's attention. "I don't like splitting up," she tells him, repeating the words she spoke when Sam asked her to stay behind while he went after Adam. "You're going off alone—" 

Sam chuckles and nudges her off-balance. She grabs onto his shoulder to keep her place on the chair's arm. "You do realize I'm going with Dean?"

"You know what I mean," she argues, making a face. "Maybe if Crowley was—"

Sam shakes his head a little. His gaze slides away from Jo to look at the others. When he looks back at Jo, he offers her a bemused smile. "You know our priorities are screwed up when you somehow think I'm safer with a demon at my back."

Jo crosses her arms and challenges him, "Oh? And you're not thinking the same?"

"So we're both screwy." He shrugs.

"I don't like it."

"Look, if nothing else, Dean's overprotective—"

"Except when he's not," Jo argues, though Sam continues to talk over her.

"—plus we both know Crowley's right about death not sticking. Worry a little more about yourself." Sam places a hand on her knee and squeezes gently. His expression takes on a pleading edge. "It's a good idea to get this taken care of as soon as we can, the two groups will work. I kind of hate saying it, but I do feel better with you having extra help."

Their conversation is cut short by a familiar piercing whistle. Jo sends a glare at her mother, who's standing next to the couch with her hands on her hips. "Boys, despite your bitching, you can't argue against taking out both Horsemen. Two sides also means we can avoid some of _this_ —" she waves a hand indicating the arguing group "—for a time."

Crowley brushes the sleeve of his jacket with a sniff. He glances sidelong at Dean with a sneer. "Listen to Mother Bear."

"She's not—"

" _Dean._ " Sam cuts in. He sighs heavily. "We'll get this done."

"Doesn't mean we have to like it," Jo adds sourly. Sam pokes his elbow against her side.

"Settled?" Crowley asks dryly. 

"Near as possible," Bobby answers.

"So where the hell are we going?" Dean demands, reluctance visible as he settles down onto the couch again.

 

\- - -

 

Jo wanders downstairs after slipping out of the room she's sharing with her mom. Thankfully Crowley doesn't need a bed, or Bobby's would really be overcrowded. Light spills out from the living room, though the hall lights are off. She isn't quite sure of the time, but it's late enough that most of the others are asleep. They're all supposed to be taking advantage of some time to rest before putting their plans to move on the Horsemen into action.

By the time she reaches the bottom of the stairs, Jo can hear the cadence of voices she's grown familiar with over the past couple of months. She feels some of the tension in her shoulders relax as she heads toward the room. When she arrives, she sees Sam and Crowley sitting at opposite ends of the couch. Sam has one leg propped on the cushions so that his back is to the arm and he faces Crowley. The demon sits slightly turned towards the hunter, one leg hooked over the other at the ankle. They don't seem to be arguing, but they never really casually chat, either. 

"Still up, love?" Crowley says when she appears.

"Hey, Jo," Sam greets with a tired smile. He waves at the empty armchair they had shared earlier in the day. "You get your own spot this time."

"You do take up a lot of room," Jo teases. She moves the chair a little closer before dropping onto the cushion. She sprawls across the chair, legs over one arm, as she settles in with her team.

Crowley waves his hand at the coffee table and a few glasses and a bottle of bourbon appear. He pours the drinks and hands out the glasses. "Cheers."

"To saving the world," Jo offers as she lifts her drink. Crowley snorts softly. Sam meets Jo's gaze solemnly and lifts his glass. After they've all taken a drink, she says, " _Great_ way to go into this: gloomy and pessimistic." 

Sam grimaces, looking a little guilty. "It's... a little intimidating," he admits.

Crowley scoffs. "You just don't know what you'll do without us." The comment draws a bemused expression from Sam.

"You do care," Jo teases with a smirk. Crowley casts her a sneer that looks halfhearted. She lets it go, counting it a victory that he doesn't actually argue.

"I'm not happy about leaving your group to go up against the manifestation of all plagues imaginable," Sam says. His frown deepens as he looks at Jo. "It's not like we've got a miracle healer right now." His gaze strays over to Crowley. "Unless someone makes another deal?"

Crowley scowls. "Don't you start whinging. I've had enough from your nitwit brother. Think he'd be grateful, Singer's calm enough, but _no,_ Squirrel has a stick up his arse."

"Not an image I needed," Jo says with a grimace; Sam echoes her sentiment.

"There's a reason I prefer to avoid your less flexible half," Crowley directs at Sam.

"He has a good reason to doubt," Sam says, expression turning serious. He stares at Crowley silently for a long moment, lips pursed in a look of concentration. Eventually he asks, "How can you give Bobby's soul back?"

Crowley rolls his eyes dramatically. "I don't _have_ it yet," he points out. "And don't you worry your floppy-haired head about the details. It's complicated, you wouldn't get it."

Sam raises a challenging eyebrow. "Did you know I was studying to be a lawyer?" he counters. "I know a thing or two about fine print and legal contracts."

"Hell contracts are a mite different than your ridiculous American laws." Crowley pours himself more bourbon and glances over at Jo with an expression that silently asks, _"Can you believe the Moose?"_

Jo smirks in response. "You know, Sam has a point. If you can get him to understand the details, it'll go a long way in reassuring the doubts everyone else has." Truthfully, she wants further assurance that everything will be okay. It may be bizarre, but she does trust Crowley. How much control he has over the processing of Crossroads contracts is a slightly different question.

"I shouldn't need to explain my job to you," he says irritably. "I'm the bloody _King_ of the Crossroads."

"And that means you can bend the rules?" Sam asks, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Crowley glares at him. "If that bint who dealt with your hapless brother could bugger the terms without my permission, you can bet your arse I have control over how my deals are written."

The statement surprises both Sam and Jo. "You didn't approve of Dean's deal?" Sam asks.

"'Course not. Why the fuck do you think I'm putting up with human allies? I want the world as-is, lively and corruptible." Crowley looks more irritated than usual. "We've _had_ this conversation."

"I'd thought..." Sam trails off with a frown.

"You emphasize the 'King' part," Jo points out. "You're kind of a control freak—" not that it has worked all that well with Sam's and Jo's stubbornness "—so it's hard to imagine you'd let one of your, um, 'employees' get away with something."

Crowley sneers at his drink. "Lilith had got her filthy claws dug in. Wouldn't 've been beneficial to my continued existence if I countermanded the order."

Silence follows the admission, until Sam murmurs a nonplussed, "Wow."

Crowley drains his drink and reaches for the bottle again. Jo leans forward to get a refill.

"I'd still like to know the details," Sam says as the bottle is passed. He holds the glare Crowley fixes him with. Jo muffles a snicker, confident that Sam will win this one, if only for the demon to try to prove Sam's confidence wrong.

The demon launches into a snippy-sounding rant about the differing complexities of Crossroads contracts and human formalities — namely things like bodily violence, souls, and death. A few minutes in, Sam starts smirking, and Jo feels lost.

Even though she can't follow the conversation, she doesn't want to return upstairs. Instead, she settles more comfortably in the chair and closes her eyes. She lets the familiar voices soothe her nerves and ease some of the anxiety she feels about going separate ways. Before long, she begins to doze and decides in her half-asleep state that potential physical aches from the awkward position are worth staying put. Sam's and Crowley's voices begin to fade as she drifts off into sleep.

 

Jo is still mostly asleep when she feels someone remove the glass from her lap. She doesn't bother to open her eyes and only turns her head a little further against the back of the chair, ready to return to a pleasantly dreamless sleep. 

However, Crowley's lowered voice keeps her from slipping off quite yet. "No one's goin' to be happy with your idea, darling."

"Well, it's _my_ decision," Sam replies, just as quietly.

"Not saying it isn't. Not saying it's the wrong one, either." The pause that follows allows Jo to start drifting off.

She wakes again partway into Sam saying, "—weren't there when I tell them. Dean's going to be convinced you told me to do it."

Crowley huffs. "Wasn't planning to stand around while you drop this little bombshell." 

Jo hears the movement of fabric and the clink of glasses. She frowns to herself, sleepily wondering what they're talking about but not willing to interrupt or fully rouse herself. Besides, she has the suspicion that this is a conversation they'll end if they know she's awake.

"Do you realize what you'll need to do?" Crowley asks, voice quiet and solemn.

Sam replies sarcastically, "Well, gee, I'll have to say—"

"I mean _before_ that, Moose," the demon interrupts firmly. Sam is quiet a long time. His reply is too low and mumbled for Jo to make out. Crowley apparently hears it; "Got it in one." There is a surprising amount of patience and respect in the statement. "Still up for it?"

Sam heaves a shaky sigh. "It's our best choice," he replies with audibly forced cheer.

They don't speak in the following moments, although Jo can still hear the clink of glass and liquid slosh of their drinks. She drifts off again, letting her mind file away the conversation to analyze in the morning.

Just as slumber pulls her away from consciousness, she thinks she hears (or maybe dreams), "I'm sorry, darling."

 

\- - -

 

The morning is not easy. Jo wakes up from a pillow to the face and quickly becomes aware of her stiff neck. She groans as she pushes herself upright and glares at Dean. He grins at her, pillow held in his hand, not even trying to look innocent. "That's what you get for sleeping down here," he tells her.

"Screw you," she grumbles. She considers yanking the pillow from him, but it feels better to focus on stretching and rubbing out some of the stiffness from her shoulders. Sam is sitting up on the couch, blanket tossed haphazardly to the side. The bourbon and glasses from last night are missing, and there's no sign of Crowley. She suspects he's gone off on his own until it's time to leave. A house full of hunters probably doesn't fit into his sense of security.

"You're chipper in the morning," Dean remarks. He tosses the pillow at Sam, getting a direct hit to the face. Sam glares at his brother and bunches the pillow up before flinging it back. Jo intercepts it with an eye roll. "Hey!"

"It's not a slumber party." Jo stands up and lets the pillow drop onto a couch cushion.

"Really? Then why were you two sleeping down here?" Dean crosses his arms and stares at her, seeming to dare her to deny it. A moment later he waggles his eyebrows suggestively; Jo stares back at him impassively.

"Lay off it, Dean," Sam complains. "Let's have a couple hours without the bitching before we head out."

"Hey!"

Jo ignores the bickering that starts as she dodges around Dean and heads upstairs. She passes Ellen at the top of the stairs, and her mom gives her a look that says they'll be having a conversation later. Thankfully, for now Jo is left alone to sort out her bags. The plan is to eat breakfast, ensure they have everything packed they might need, and take off by eleven. They don't know the exact location of the Horsemen, but Crowley has leads on both. Evidence of Pestilence is located in Davenport and Crowley tracked a path of omens suggesting Death is on his way to Illinois. According to the demon, and Jo isn't sure where he found the information, Death has a penchant for junk food, and Chicago seems like the kind of place to appeal to him.

Dean and Sam are driving, the combined result of Dean refusing to deal with any demon powers and Crowley wanting as little contact as possible with the older Winchester. Neither Ellen nor Bobby were keen on demon teleportation, so Jo's riding with them. Whether Crowley will deign to join them on their road trip remains to be seen.

With her bags ready, Jo heads down the stairs. The smell of a hearty breakfast she recognizes from her days at the Roadhouse greets her as she reaches the landing. She drops her bags by the front door and hurries to the kitchen. She hadn't been very hungry last night while they were sorting out the Horseman plans and dealing with the resulting arguments; now her stomach lets her know how much she's missed.

"Don't crowd me," Ellen chides the Winchesters, both men doing their best to peer over her shoulders and looking like they might snag a piece of bacon straight from the skillet.

"Are your bags even ready?" Jo asks them.

Dean dismisses her with a wave. "Over and done, sleeping beauty."

Sam reluctantly steps away. "Just need a few minutes." Jo hooks a thumb over her shoulder to indicate he should get moving. Sam rolls his eyes despite his smile. "Yeah, fine. Ellen doesn't need us drooling over her shoulder."

"Damn straight." As Sam exits the room, Ellen whaps her spatula against Dean's knuckles. "Seriously, back the hell off."

"Aww, can't I get a bite to tide me over?" he almost whines.

"Don't be a big baby," Ellen scolds. "Set out the plates and such. Make yourself useful or get out of the kitchen."

Jo asks, "Where's Bobby?"

"Gettin' the truck in order. You can put your bags out."

Jo leaves them to sort out breakfast. She picks up her bags and steps out the front door. She has to move around the side of the house to find Bobby; he's in the back of a pick-up truck that has clearly seen better days.

Wrinkling her nose, Jo calls, "Are we really going to be squeezing into that together?"

Bobby gives her with an unimpressed look. "We'll do just fine."

While it's true that the cab has a backseat, it's clearly a tiny one, and Jo knows she's the one who will be stuck in it. She tries, "What about Crowley? There's not enough room for four—"

"You really think he's going to stand being couped up with a bunch of hunters, no matter the seating?"

Jo deflates with a sigh. "Fine. But I need a pillow or something to deal with this trip."

Bobby comes to the back of the truck and holds out a hand to take her bags. "Whatever keeps the complaining to a minimum."

 

Everyone tucks into breakfast with obvious enthusiasm. Dean slaps together a sandwich with bacon and eggs to take on the go after hurrying Sam. They have the longer drive to Chicago, and Dean seems anxious to get going. He's already left the kitchen by the time Sam stands up to follow.

"Watch yourselves," he offers. He hesitates for a moment, then bends down to give Jo a brief hug. As he straightens up, he takes her hand and wraps it around the hilt of a familiar knife.

"What the hell?" She stares up at him, startled by the fact that he's giving her the demon-killing knife.

"Just take it," he tells her firmly. "I've got the feeling you might need it."

Before Jo can argue, they hear Dean yelling from the front door. "Sammy! Get your ass in gear!"

Sam gives a quick wave before hurrying off. Jo stares at the knife in her hand and really hopes the idiot won't need it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent way too long trying to figure out Britishisms, and as a result I worry about over-doing it. (I just can't win with this.)
> 
> This is just the beginning of my challenge of figuring out locations and drive-times. Be aware that since the Winchesters are driving from Sioux Falls to Chicago, the events of "Hammer of the Gods" are being moved out of Indiana.
> 
> [Most recent edit: July 19, 2018]


	12. the blood was the price that set the captives free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue adapted from "Hammer of the Gods."

Sam glares at the rain-splattered windshield of the Impala. The storm that hit only a few minutes across the state-line into Wisconsin on a detoured route feels suspiciously timed. Dean is determined to pull off someplace, given the poor visibility. Sam isn't convinced that's the best idea.

"We should keep going," he tries again as Dean leans forward to rub his sleeve against the window.

"Really? Do you see something I can't?"

"No, but this is a really weird storm."

"Yeah, Biblical — you said that earlier." Dean hunches over the steering wheel, gaze attracted to the lights of a sign up ahead. He lets out a triumphant laugh. "And looky here, perfect place to take a rest."

Sam leans forward to stare at the sign he can sort of make out through the torrential rain. "Elysium Fields," it proclaims. A restaurant is advertised under the vacancy sign. 

"I don't know..." Sam hates that they've already had to take a detour and now they're stopping. They need to reach Chicago and hopefully find Death. The others have the shorter drive; if they're lucky, they'll be done and back first. Sam doesn't like being split up. It feels odd — and a little good — to be traveling with his brother again. That doesn't mean he doesn't miss Jo, though. ( _And Crowley,_ he'll admit only to himself.)

"Come on, man, let's get some food. If the storm's this bad in the next couple hours, we can book a room to rest up. Given how soundly you and Jo were sleeping this morning, I can't imagine you got much rest last night." Dean manages to park without dinging anyone in the nearly full lot. He turns off the engine and turns to Sam with an impatient look.

Sam holds back a sigh. "Fine. We'll get in, eat, and take a look at the weather forecast. This all smells fishy, though."

"All I'm hearing is 'bitch, bitch, bitch'," Dean counters, but there's an amused smirk on his face. That's something, at least, even if it doesn't soothe the unease Sam feels.

They get soaked despite running the fifty feet to the front door. Thankfully, it's warm inside and the lobby is surprisingly big, colorful, and cleaner than Sam ever finds roadside hotels to be. He exchanges a surprised glance with his brother.

The clerk at the front desk looks up from his computer and smiles. He continues to type at a fast pace while he greets, "Good evening, Sirs."

"Afternoon, actually," Sam points out.

Dean counters, "But it's dark enough. Some freak weather, huh?" He leans on the counter as he looks around the busy lobby. A number of people look to have recently come in from the rain, judging by their damp, unruly hair. Most seem to have settled, though there is one couple who still wears soggy coats.

"Quite unexpected, yes," the clerk replies. "But that seems to be the nature of things recently." He stops typing to turn his attention fully to them. "How may I help you? Room to rest? Some food? We have an excellent spread for our all you can eat buffet." Sam sees Dean's eyes light up at that and knows they won't get back onto the road soon.

"Definitely food for starters," Dean agrees. He sends Sam a grin. "See? Told you it was a good idea to stop."

"Certainly, Sir. The weather's no condition to be driving in."

Sam forces a polite smile on his face as he nods an acknowledgment to the clerk. He's turning to locate the dining room, when his gaze catches on a spot of red dripping down Dean's jaw. "Dude, how'd you cut yourself?"

"Ah. A shaving knick perhaps?" The clerk offers a tissue. "Nothing to worry about, it seems." The clerk extends a hand in the direction of a partition across the lobby. "Around the wall you'll find the doors to our dining area. Please enjoy yourselves." He leans forward a little, a quirky grin on his lips as he confides, "We have the best pie in the Midwest, not to be missed."

"Great! Let's go, Sammy." Dean dabs at his cut as he turns eagerly for the buffet.

Sam nods politely to the clerk before following his brother. He bites back the words _"I still don't like this."_

 

\- - -

 

Jo leans over the back of the front seat to peer out the windshield. Bobby side-eyes her sudden appearance at his shoulder. Ellen turns to her with a questioning look. Deadpan, Jo asks, "Are we there yet?" It makes her mom snort in amusement, and she shoves Jo back into her seat. "What? It's not roomy back here."

"You're small, it'll do," Bobby counters. Jo sees the corner of his smirk.

"Did we really have to use this old bucket of bolts?"

"Who's been stuck in a wheelchair for months? My pick."

Jo rolls her eyes and does her best to stretch out sideways on the backseat. "So did you have a plan?"

Ellen turns to lay her arm over the back of her seat, including both Bobby and Jo in view as she speaks. "Figured that was something you and the demon had a chat about."

With a shrug, Jo admits, "Mostly it's been conversations about how to track the rings down. And how they'll open the Cage. We might have to call on Gabriel if we don't figure it out, but he didn't seem keen on really getting involved."

Bobby shakes his head a little. "They sure as hell ain't like you'd expect," he mutters.

"The angels? No, they really aren't," Jo agrees. "It's kind of funny, when you think about it. They act superior, but actually they're awfully human."

"Except for the true forms that can burn out your eyes," Bobby counters.

"And powers that can devastate entire cities," Ellen adds.

"Well, there's that." Jo rubs a hand over her face. "But the emotional side of things, the reactions. Gabriel talked about family a lot. This whole thing, the Apocalypse, is like a giant temper tantrum."

"Still seem to be overlooking the cosmic level powers," Ellen notes with an exasperated look. "If the three of us started fighting, we'd most likely just kill each other, not devastate the Earth."

Jo huffs. "You know what I meant."

"Back to Pestilence," Bobby redirects. "Crowley meeting us in town?"

"We'll probably need him if we get into a drawn-out fight." Jo sits up a little and leans forward. "I don't think we'd hold up real well against whatever plagues Pestilence decides to unleash."

"Any access to hazmat suits?" Ellen proposes wryly.

"I think we could use a little more maneuverability than that." Jo fingers Sam's knife sheathed at her side. "Just gotta move fast. Without the ring, he shouldn't be too difficult to take down — the power's in that."

"Do we know if there's gonna be lasting effects from what he casts?" Bobby asks.

Jo grimaces. "That didn't seem like something Crowley really knew. But Famine's spell or whatever he was doing to Valentine faded almost immediately after Sam took him out."

Ellen's attention focuses on Jo, expression intent. "How did that go down? Dean was too pissed to give a clear recounting."

Jo chews the inside of her lip as she considers her answer. In many ways, that hunt had involved a lot of personal issues that she doubts Sam wants to admit. At the same time, Jo doesn't think there was anything shameful in his actions, certainly no more so than how everyone else, herself included, acted under the influence. Plus, he pulled through, turning Famine's induced hunger back on the Horseman. "Bobby gave us the heads up," she starts.

 

\- - -

 

"We are so screwed," Sam mutters under his breath as he follows his brother into the kitchen. It's eerily quiet with a distinct lack of people and the presence of only some pots bubbling on the range. "Dean? Next time let's listen to my instincts and _keep driving_."

"Shh." Dean throws a bitchy look over his shoulder. He pauses before approaching the stove, a tense look of dread taking over his expression as he reaches out. Sam grimaces, knowing before Dean pokes a ladle in that they are not going to like the results. "Shit. Gross, dude." Sam feels more than a little ill at the sight of an eyeball bobbing in the ladle of what is undoubtedly blood.

"We need to get out of here," he points out unnecessarily. Their phones don't have a signal, so they can't even call in help. He's ready to turn on his heel and leave.

"Hey! This whole place can't be a nuthouse," Dean argues. "Where'd the other people go?"

Sam holds in a frustrated sigh. Clearly Crowley's self-preservation instincts have been rubbing off on him because he is very nearly tempted to say screw it, grab his brother, and get the fuck out. Instead, he takes a careful look around the kitchen. He tries not to think too hard about the stained counters and what looks like gristle on some of the cutting boards. If there are creatures here preparing humans for meals, they'll have kept their ingredients nearby. He points to a shut door at the far end of the kitchen. It looks like the entrance to a pantry or walk-in freezer. If it's the latter, they'll have more of a problem than they possibly have time to deal with, Sam thinks grimly.

Dean stays a step back, letting Sam approach and examine the padlocked door. He feels pretty sure that this isn't the usual way a kitchen is kept. He startles when a hand slaps against the door's other side and a familiar face comes into view in the small window. Multiple voices, all panicked, cry out to them for help, and Sam bites back a curse. He kneels down to get a better look at the padlock while he scrambles for the lockpicks inside his coat.

"We better work fast," Dean says, standing over Sam and peering in. A little louder, he tells the people inside, "We got this. Just... keep cool. Wait, shit. This isn't the freezer, is it?"

Sam rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath, "Way to be reassuring."

The voices trail off, and one women shrieks. Sam holds back a groan, knowing that when he turns around he'll see whatever creatures have organized this situation. 

Dean turns first. "Hey, guys. So, I gotta ask—"

"Move!" A human-shaped hand lands on Sam's shoulder and yanks him upright with a strength that is very much _not_ human. Dean is treated similarly, and they're manhandled by three burly guys.

"Is it too late to cancel that room reservation?" Dean quips as they're pushed down the hall.

"Really, we don't care to stay for, um, dinner," Sam adds, swallowing hard against the urge to vomit. He'd only had a salad for lunch. No meat; he would have noticed that, right? What about the pie? Shit.

The men don't respond, marching them towards the dining room. They take a sharp turn into the open doors of a ballroom where over a dozen people — they still look far too human, but they aren't demons — are seated at tables. Their escorts shove Sam and Dean into two seats set in the open area of the u-shaped table arrangement. Strong hands stay on their shoulders, holding them in place.

The woman who Dean had been eyeing earlier stands directly across from them, her expression imperious and somber as she stares at them. There is power in her eyes and a strength that seems barely contained by her body. Sam's gaze catches on one oddity of her appearance, a ridiculously standard name-tag sticker: "My name is... Kali."

Sam takes a quick look around at the others, noting that everyone else also wears the stickers. Odin, Baron Samedi, Mercury (damn clerk), Izanami, Macha, Nephthys, and Ganesh (there's Dean's elephant)... 

"What the hell did we walk in on?" Dean mutters next to him.

"Are we all arrived?" the man next to Kali asks the room at large. His name tag reads "Baldur" and its bold orange stands out strangely against his sharp suit.

"Get on with it," Odin calls. The old man sprawls in his seat like he's used to larger chairs. Ganesh sits next to him and glances over disdainfully.

Kali shoots Odin a quelling look. "We are here to address the issue of the Judeo-Christian Apocalypse," she intones. Sam looks over at Dean, catching his brother's uneasy expression. The hands on their shoulders finally release them as their escorts take the few empty chairs at the tables.

Baldur continues, "Ground rules: No slaughtering each other. Curb your wrath. Contain your... tendencies. We're trying to keep a _low_ profile here. Our disagreements must be placed on hold as we look toward the future. We are meeting together to ensure we _have_ a future."

Kali's glare focuses on the Winchesters as she points to them. "We have two very valuable bargaining chips, Michael and Lucifer's Vessels."

Baldur seems to have the cooler head of the two leads, his voice smooth and almost diplomatic as he asks the group, "We must ask, what do we do now? Anybody have a bright idea? Speak up. This is a safe room."

Sam and Dean share an incredulous look as several voices talk over each other. Sam can't understand the dialect Zao Shen uses, but it's clearly a threat if the murderous look and Ganesh's response in English is anything to go by: "Kill them? The angels will just bring them back."

Odin seems amused by the proceedings as he leans back in his chair and shares loudly that he doesn't believe in the coming Apocalypse. Apparently he only accepts Ragnarok, which does not seem to endear him to the others.

While all the bickering goes on between neighbors and across the room, Sam catches Dean's movement from the corner of his eye. They both get up from their chairs without standing up straight and start creeping towards the closed doors.

Kali effectively cuts off their retreat with a falling chandelier and a curt demand: "Stay."

The other gods quiet, except for a few grumbles, as the brothers turn back to face Kali. Her eyes seem to smolder with fire as she fixes the Winchesters with her glare. She addresses the pagan gods in the room. "We must _fight._ The only thing these archangels understand is violence. This ends in blood. Them or us."

Sam flinches when Mercury suggests talking to the angels. Kali doesn't look away from the Winchesters even as she twitches a finger and the messenger god starts choking on blood.

A couple of the gods look mildly concerned, the majority look on with apathetic expressions, and some even appear amused.

"Kali!" Baldur interjects, moving a step closer to the goddess.

She finally turns to look at Mercury as she lets go of her spell. Sneering at him, she dismisses his proposition with, "Pathetic, cowering imbecile."

Behind Sam, the doors slam open, hitting the walls dramatically. Dean jumps next to him as they spin around to see who's joined the gathering. Sam would not have been surprised to see Lucifer — that would be just their luck — but he did not anticipate Gabriel waltzing in.

The archangel-cum-trickster grins broadly at the room with his arms spread wide. "Can't we all just get along?"

Sam opens his mouth but chokes on his question when Gabriel makes a sharp gesture with his hand. Dean gasps quietly next to him.

"Fellas, always wrong place and worst time, isn't it?"

" _Loki._ " The name comes out as a hiss between Baldur's clenched teeth.

Gabriel easily shoves Dean and Sam back a few steps as he cuts between them to stand in the middle of the room.

"Hi honey, good to see you, too." Gabriel looks around. "Huh, guess my invitation got lost in the mail."

Baldur casts a brief glare at Kali before focusing back on Gabriel. "Why are _you_ here?" he demands.

"I think you know," Gabriel returns with a dramatic eye-roll. "Hold, please." He turns around to face Sam and Dean; the grin he gives them looks brittle. "Adults need to talk, boys. Check you later." He snaps his fingers, abruptly transporting the brothers into one of the hotel rooms.

"Fuck!" Dean curses as soon as they have their voices back. "Goddamn it, what's going on?"

Sam heaves a frustrated sigh as he paces to the window and peers out. The weather is far from good, but he can actually see more than a couple feet from the window. "We have a chance to get out of here. So how do you want to play this?" 

Dean grumbles a few more curses before offering something coherent. "First thing's first, we gotta get those poor suckers out before they're meals on wheels. Get back in the kitchen and bust 'em out? If we're lucky, we can gank some of those freaks along the way."

"Really?" Sam starts, only to be interrupted by Gabriel's appearance.

"When are you _ever_ lucky?" The angel looks irritated despite his casual sprawl on the room's couch. "Where's the angel that's usually on your shoulder? He should've smelled this trap _miles_ away. And really, Samsquatch? What happened to letting your freak flag fly?"

Dean narrows his eyes at the archangel. "You know what? Bite me, _Gabriel._ "

With a sneer, the angel counters, "Maybe later, big boy." His glare darts to Sam. "Should've known you'd spill the beans."

"Weren't you the one to lecture me about being joined at the hip?" Sam asks in exasperation.

"Sure, then you went splitsville!" Gabriel stands up and paces closer to them. "Listen up. You muttonheads walked yourselves right into a lovely little trap, so now I'm here to _save_ your sorry asses. I did not risk getting on Heaven's radar guiding Sammy's questionable soul to the Garden just to land you in the middle of this clusterfuck."

Dean's jaw clenches, clearly biting back a retort. His face goes a little pale, and Sam assumes it's from the reminder that his younger brother had recently been dead.

To the shock of both Sam and Gabriel, Dean grits out a grudging, "Thank you. For that."

Gabriel's eyebrows arch nearly to his hairline, and he looks comically stunned for a long moment. He recovers quickly, resuming a scowl. "You're screwed whether these guys decide to dust you or use you as bait."

"And there goes the moment," Sam mutters to himself as Dean leans into Gabriel's personal space.

"Wow. Seems I heard you were preaching 'play your roles' a couple months ago. You've screwed us over from day one!"

Gabriel holds a hand up, not touching Dean, but near enough to make the hunter take a step back. "Don't doubt that the end is still nigh. You're knocking on the eve of destruction, but Michael and Lucifer are not dancing the lambada here tonight."

Dean huffs. "And you care about the timing?"

The angel snorts inelegantly and turns away to pace. " _Care?_ No. I've offered you all the info you're getting out of me — consider that a 'Fuck You, Dad', by the way." Gabriel glares at Sam as he paces by, but the expression doesn't stay. Oddly, he looks a little uncomfortable. "Me and Kali, though... we, uh, had a thing." He sends a toothy grin Dean's way and wiggles his eyebrows. "Chick's _all hands_. So, what can I say? I'm a little sentimental." Sam doesn't miss the hint of sincerity being covered by the snark.

He isn't particularly hopeful, but he has to ask, "Would they have a chance?"

"Really?" Dean mutters. Sam doesn't know why his brother's surprised — they're already working on a plan hatched by Gabriel and relying on information from a demon.

"It's a bad idea," Gabriel cuts in. He stops pacing. He meets Sam's gaze somberly. "I know both sides, and Lucifer will turn them to finger paint. It's a no-go, kids. Doubtful those bastards will listen, but _maybe_ a few will have a little more sense of self-preservation than pride. Unlocking the Cage is your only alternative."

"Fine." Dean points to the door. "Just zap the appetizers free of here and fly us out."

Gabriel's smirk is pure sarcasm. "Sure thing, Skipper! Oh, but there's a snag. Kali's got you by the short and curlies." He rolls his eyes as both hunters cringe at the phrasing. "Seriously? Look, it's a blood spell. You're on a leash, you aren't leaving 'til my old flame lets go of your blood."

"So what are we going to do?" Sam asks.

Gabriel walks towards the door, pulling a bottle of breath spray from his pocket. "Oh, you know, a little charm and ol' black magic."

"Whatever," Dean dismisses. "Fine, you do that, and we'll get the full course meal out of the fridge to take with us."

The angel spins around angrily. "Forget it!" he snaps. "Kali's not stupid. Soon as I get my hands on the blood, we're out of here or I've shown up for nothing."

Sam stays out of the ensuing bitchy argument about secret identities, which somehow devolves into threats about cutting off hands. Dean amazingly ends up getting his way. Gabriel scowls at Sam and asks, "Didn't you drop this loser?"

Before Sam can retort, the angel disappears.

"Come on," Dean says, shoving Sam towards the door. "I don't think he's going to wait patiently."

 

\- - -

 

Jo texts Crowley when she sees the exit for Davenport approaching.

_Half mile out. You joining?_

Crowley's reply is near instantaneous. _Turn into the Denny's parking lot._

Jo types her reply as she says aloud, "We're meeting at Denny's." _Why?_

"What's there?" Bobby asks.

_Not popping into a moving vehicle._

Jo chuckles at the demon's reply. "Just Crowley. Apparently he doesn't want to risk getting caught out by appearing in a moving vehicle."

A few minutes later they drive around to the far end of the Denny's parking lot. Crowley stands next to a tree planted in a small strip of grass. He looks appalled by their choice of vehicle. He stares at them with a glower until Ellen rolls down the window. "Well?" she prompts.

Crowley heaves a visible sigh before disappearing and reappearing in the back next to Jo. The small space seems even tighter with a second body. She shifts over a little, but they're still pressed together along their arms. "Turn right out of the drive; three miles down, take a left," Crowley directs.

Ellen half-turns in her seat to run a critical look over the demon. "You know exactly where he is?"

"Convalescent home," Crowley replies. "Likely running a few trials before hitting widespread with some choice viruses. His trail of dead's been mild 'til here."

"Mild," Bobby mutters to himself.

Crowley raises an eyebrow as his glance shifts to the older hunter. "Hundreds compared to the hundreds of thousands he can easily eliminate? Yes, mild."

"So what's the game plan?" Jo asks.

The demon turns his head her way, seemingly unbothered by how close they are with their shoulders pressed together. "Quick as possible, get in and out. The ring has to go first. He's going to have an escort, which means no lallygagging as we close in."

"Can you pick them out?" Bobby asks.

Crowley shrugs a little, his movement bumping Jo. "The demons, yes. Horsemen can hide themselves decent enough."

"Which is why you've had to dig into alternative ways of finding them," Jo guesses. Crowley tilts his head in acknowledgment.

"How _did_ you find them?" Ellen asks, looking a little suspicious.

" _Now_ you want to know?" Crowley scoffs. "We have our answers, be grateful."

Jo takes advantage of their proximity to elbow the demon's side. "I'm curious, too."

He glares at her, but doesn't resist. "Fine," he bites out. "Don't tell the Moose. Old pal of his was a plant by Azazel, and he ended up wrangling the Horsemen when they rose."

"A friend of Sam's?" Bobby asks with a frown.

The conversation pauses as Crowley gives another set of directions, then he continues, "He was possessed sometime. Probably was the one who set up the girl's demise, too." Jo's chest aches, remembering when Sam confessed the memory of Jessica's death after he'd had a nightmare reliving the event. Crowley gives her a knowing look. "Moose needn't know."

Ellen asks, "He dead?"

Crowley smirks at her. "What d'you think, Mother Bear?"

Ellen's eyes narrow at him. "Do you nickname everyone?"

Jo slides her hand over to squeeze Crowley's knee in silent thanks. He sends a frown her way but otherwise doesn't acknowledge the gesture.

"This the place?" Bobby asks as a sign announcing Serenity Valley Convalescent Home comes into view.

Crowley's attention sharpens as he eyes the set of buildings beyond the division of well manicured lawns. "Behind the front building, medical center I wager," he directs. Bobby turns into the drive and follows the signs for the medical building past the entry center. It looks like there's a combination of assisted and senior living options in addition to the medical center.

"Don't have a count on the escort yet," Crowley says with a frown. "Pestilence's presence is making it hard to read from here." As soon as they park, Crowley vanishes.

"Load up," Bobby orders as he turns off the engine.

Jo has to wait for her mom to get out before she can climb out of the backseat. By the time she shuts the cab door, Bobby and her mom are organizing supplies from the pickup's bed. Jo pulls on a jacket to have access to numerous pockets to carry the salt, holy water, and extra bullets. She double-checks that her knives, including Sam's, are in easy access. Ellen hands her a gun, and she runs through the basic checks.

They're lucky no one else is in the parking lot since they would definitely draw suspicion. They'll have to move quickly once inside to avoid attracting more than just the attention of Pestilence's escort. 

Crowley reappears looking a little twitchy. "There's only a handful, but the air's thick with the Horseman's presence," he warns. He eyes their supplies. "I suspect an upper floor, but there's still a fair amount of area to cover."

"Then let's split up," Jo suggests. She glances at her mom before the other hunters say anything. "Me and Crowley, you and Bobby."

"I don't think so," Ellen counters with a glare at the demon.

"Mom, we've been working together. Neither of you really trust him, and that could cost you in a fight," Jo reasons. "We'll cover more ground and can call when we've found him."

"Leave a call open and holler when you find the bastard," Bobby bargains. He puts a hand on Ellen's arm and gives her a look that opens what looks like a silent conversation. Whatever they communicate, Ellen seems to give up her protest.

"Agreed?" Crowley drawls, turning towards the front doors.

"My daughter gets hurt, I'm skinning you alive."

Crowley glances back at Ellen, looking amused. "You're hunters. Hurt's in the job description." Before she can retort, he continues, "But your cub's not dying."

"We'll be fine, Mom," Jo says with a roll of her eyes.

Bobby dials Jo's number, and they make sure the line is open before they head inside. They move like they know where they're going, ignoring the staff members busy at the front desk, and they head for different hallways. They regroup at the elevators. "Start at the top and head down?" Ellen suggests.

"You and Robert," Crowley agrees while he hits the button. "We got the bottom." With that said, Crowley strides off down the hall.

"See you soon," Jo says before trotting off after the demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Most recent edit: July 19, 2018]


	13. taking a stand to escape what's inside me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue adapted from "Hammer of the Gods" and "Two Minutes to Midnight"
> 
> EDIT 9-11-17: _Why did no one tell me about the copy/paste error?_ I've corrected it now so the chunk of missing paragraphs is now correctly in place.
> 
> [Most recent edit: July 20, 2018]

About ten minutes into their search, Crowley turns abruptly to Jo and grabs her hand. Before she can ask what he's doing, the demon wields a small, sharp blade and carves into the meat of her palm. 

"Ow! What the hell?" she demands when she's unable to pull her hand back.

"Ward to keep your internal organs from suddenly shutting down," Crowley tells her, expression tight.

Sounds of heaving down the hall distract Jo for the moment. A doctor and nurse stumble against the wall outside of a patient's room, choking on vomit. She can see a trail of blood from their noses. Frantic beeps of monitoring equipment start going off in several of the rooms.

"Mom!" Jo gasps, reaching into her pocket. Crowley lets go of her hand, apparently finished. She ignores the blood she's getting on her phone as she lifts it to her ear. "Are you okay?"

Bobby curses on the other end, and it sounds like the phone is still in his pocket. Slightly muffled, his voice comes through, "Fourth floor!"

Crowley touches Jo's elbow and transports them without a word. The fourth floor is worse, the sounds of flat-lining machines piercing, shrill enough to mute the sound of large patches of flies buzzing through the air. Hospital staff are collapsed on the floor. At least some of them are alive, judging by twitching limbs and labored breathing. Crowley pays them no mind as he strides through the hallway, turning his head at every doorway. Jo forces herself to move past them; she knows the only thing that will fix this is taking care of Pestilence. 

Ahead of her, Crowley raises a gun, aiming at something inside a room. He fires and Jo darts forward, readying herself to jump into the fight. She reaches the door in time to see the demon inside twitching on the floor as orange lightening flashes beneath its skin. It looks like the result of the demon-killing knife. She turns a questioning look on Crowley, but he's already moving on.

"Where is he?" Jo demands when she catches up, Sam's knife clenched in her hand. "And what is that?"

"One, I believe that room ahead. Two, let's discuss it later." 

A nurse with black eyes exits the room Crowley indicated and immediately charges. Jo plants her feet, bracing herself for the collision, and adjusts the position of her knife just as the demon launches toward her neck. Strong fingers press against her trachea. Jo stumbles with the additional weight but manages to jam the knife farther into the demon's chest. Orange lightening dances under the nurse's skin, and the body slumps against Jo.

She shoves the body off as she coughs. It seems like something besides the momentary loss of air is affecting her, though. She feels blood on her lips, and dots dance in her vision, worse than it should be when the demon had hold of her for only a short time. Crowley growls something under his breath and grabs her wrist to pull her into the room.

"Still not who I'd expect to see," a tall man with sharp cheekbones comments as they come through the door. Bobby is hunched over on the floor a few feet away, spitting out blood on top of what looks like vomit. Ellen is a little further in, struggling to get upright from her kneeling position beside a hospital bed.

Jo's vision blurs and darkens at the edges, and she can feel a thick cough building in her chest. She breathes harshly and brings up her knife in front of her. "Surprise," she taunts.

Pestilence chuckles, his voice thick with phlegm. His nose and eyes shine like a fevered person's. He looks anything but weak, though. He points at Jo with his ringed hand. "Were you the one with Lucifer's Vessel? How did you enjoy my brother's gifts?"

Jo stumbles as her stomach clenches in sharp pain. She gasps and immediately retches. She clumsily steps forward, refusing to let go of the knife or fall forward. They need the ring.

Pestilence dismisses Jo with a wave of his hand. Through bleary eyes she can tell his attention turns to Crowley. "And you! What a waste. I'd ask what possessed you to spend your last days with these weak, pathetic mortals, except I don't really care. I'm confident I can find something appropriate for you." He smirks, taking a step forward.

Jo focuses on the Horseman's ringed hand despite her dimming vision. She shifts her feet and wraps both hands around the hilt of Sam's knife. She hopes Crowley's ready to take down the Horseman.

Knowing that she's using the last of her energy, Jo launches herself at Pestilence, angling as best she can to catch his hand as she falls. Her knife meets resistance on her way to the floor. She can't see anymore, but she hears a grunt of annoyance above her and feels the spray of blood across her cheek.

Two gunshots ring out, one after the other, as she hits the linoleum. She hears Pestilence's phlegm-filled laugh, then, "You're still too late." His statement is followed by a gurgle and the sound of a body hitting the floor.

Jo closes her eyes and lets her body slump against the cool linoleum in relief. She still feels like hell, but she trusts Crowley to make sure they get out okay.

 

\- - -

 

Sam does his best not to fidget as he leans against the ballroom table with only Kali and Baldur for company. Dean is busy making sure the humans-slash-potential meals get out as quickly as possible. Kali had dismissed the other gods with an imperious wave of her hands once she proved the blade of an archangel could _kill_ an archangel. (Sam still feels shaky, remembering the burning light bursting from Gabriel's vessel.) He glances surreptitiously where Gabriel had been sitting. One of the gods disposed of the body, but there should be evidence of the death. Sam hasn't seen a lot of angel remains, he readily admits, but what he has seen always leaves _something_ — an imprint or suggestion of an angel's true form.

He hopes he's right. Sam hopes Gabriel hasn't died because he's finally trying to do the right thing.

"So how does this work?" Baldur finally breaks the silence. He looks a appalled that he's talking to a mere mortal.

Sam grimaces. He waves a hand at his chest, explaining, "Well, there's this warding on my ribs. Soon as we, ah, squeegee it off, Lucifer comes running."

Kali runs her gaze over him. "Easier to break them," she murmurs.

"That might not go well for you," Sam points out. "Damaged goods, you know?"

Kali scoffs. Before they can say anything more, Dean storms into the room, his cheeks flushed with anger. "Plan's off, folks. The blade's a fake. There's more trickster in that feathery douche than divinity. Gabriel's alive."

Sam feels torn between breathing a sigh of relief and groaning in frustration. This puts them back at square one. Question is if Kali will weigh the option of killing them out of spite worthwhile.

"Traitor to all he consorts with," Baldur hisses under his breath. 

They all startle when the building shudders and terrible, inhuman screams echo down the hall. Sam stands up abruptly and moves to Dean's side. "Get us out of here!" he shouts at Kali.

The goddess glows with power, eyes lit with flame as she watches the ballroom doors. Baldur stiffens next to her, stare fixated on the hallway. "We can't," he grits out in response to Sam's order.

" _What?_ " Dean curses a blue streak and makes a move to grab Kali. Baldur shoves him back with an irritated look.

"No one can just transport in _or_ out," the god snaps.

"You might ask 'mother may I'?"

The voice has haunted Sam's dreams more often than he can count. His heart jumps into his throat, and he feels more than a little nauseous as a tall blond man with blistering skin appears in the doorway. He is splattered liberally with blood and gore and appears completely unconcerned by a piece of viscera sliding down the side of his neck. Lucifer's eyes catch immediately on Sam, and he smiles thinly. "Sam. So good to see you in the flesh."

" _Son of a bitch,_ " Dean exhales. He steps in front of Sam, so close he nearly steps on his brother's toes.

"Ah. And Dean. If you'll wait a moment, we can get this show on the road. But first..." Lucifer catches Sam's gaze once more, winking, before turning to the two gods.

"How _dare_ you," Baldur hisses, lip curled up in a snarl as he stares at the blood-drenched archangel. His hands glow as he strides forward, snarling, "What gives you the right—?"

Lucifer punches so fast that Sam can't track the movement. Suddenly Lucifer's hand is sticking out of Baldur's back and with a disgustingly thick squelching sound, Lucifer yanks his arm back out. "No one needs to grant the right," the archangel says, expression chiseled and cold. "We take it. And you..." He lets the body drop and kicks it to the side. " _Pagans,_ think you're the righteous inheritors of the earth." He looks up at Kali with a sneer. "Worse than humans."

The goddess is starting to burn, flames bursting to life along her arms. Sam pulls at Dean's arm, and they jump across a table, knocking it down in the process so they can duck behind it. Kali's voice is a howl of unfamiliar language, ancient and powerful enough that it feels like Sam's bones are vibrating.

"What genius invited him?" Dean hisses.

"Two guesses," Sam grits out, remembering Mercury's dimwitted idea to _talk_. He wishes Kali had just killed the bastard. " _Now_ what?"

"I hate you mooks," Gabriel replies. Sam leans forward to look around Dean in surprise. At first glance, the archangel looks pissed. It takes a moment more for Sam to see his own fear reflected in the angel's suddenly all too human eyes. Gabriel meets his stare straight on. "This would be easier if you weren't so fucking stubborn."

"Sorry if we don't feel like playing the dancing monkeys to your brothers' calliope," Dean retorts. Gabriel looks at him with a raised eyebrow. "What?"

With a dramatic eye roll, Gabriel punches Dean's shoulder. Before the hunter can voice a protest, Gabriel stands up and throws up his hands. A crash resonates on the other side of their pitiful barricade. Dean stands and yanks Sam to his feet, leading them to the far wall.

"Luci, I'm home!" Gabriel sing-songs with heavy sarcasm. He goes to Kali, bending a little to extend a hand to the goddess gasping on the floor. She accepts the help silently, fiery stare fixed on Gabriel's face. He briefly meets her gaze before looking to the broken doors.

Lucifer stands slowly, expression shuttered. "Not the reunion I expected," he says coolly.

Gabriel licks his lips in a surprisingly human gesture of nerves. His sword, hopefully the real one this time, slides into his hand, and he raises it in front of him. "Me either. Guess we can still get surprised." He pushes Kali towards the Winchesters. Without looking away from his brother, Gabriel says, "Dean, get them out of here."

Sam swallows down a protest or question, he isn't sure which. He reaches out for Kali when she seems to hesitate. She glares at his hand, but she leaves Gabriel's side. The Messenger of God keeps himself between the trio and Lucifer as they skirt the room and move towards the door.

Lucifer looks almost amused. "Really?" His nose wrinkles in an expression of disgust. "Over a girl? I knew you'd been slumming it, little brother, but I hope you didn't..." he shudders dramatically as he finishes, " _catch_ anything."

Dean pulls at Sam's arm, making the younger hunter aware he has stopped in the doorway without a conscious decision. "Time to go," Dean hisses in his ear.

Lucifer's gaze briefly darts over Gabriel's shoulder, eyes locking with Sam's. "You're not escaping, Sam."

"Hey! We're talking here," Gabriel snaps, dragging the attention back to him. 

Dean yanks Sam down the hall and doesn't stop pulling until they reach the parking lot. Kali is ahead of them, staring at the Impala in disgust.

"Get in, princess, or I am leaving your ass behind," Dean orders. The goddess scowls but gets into the backseat. Sam imagines the only reason she's giving in is that there must be some kind of barrier still in effect that prevents her from transporting on her own.

"Think anyone else made it?" Sam asks as he slips into his seat just in time for Dean to hit the gas and make break for the road.

"Don't know, don't care," Dean returns tensely.

From the backseat, Kali replies lowly, "Perhaps the cowards."

Sam looks over his shoulder, giving her an pitying look. "They were never prepared. You had _no idea_ what you were dealing with. If anyone survived, I'd say they're lucky or smart."

Kali's eyes glow in the darkness of the backseat. "Cowards. No matter how foolish, we _fight_."

"Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but we're fleeing right the hell now," Dean interrupts.

Her glowing glare fixes on the back of Dean's head, but she says nothing.

The ground shudders, and Dean nearly loses control of the car. Swearing, he struggles with the steering wheel to keep on the road. Kali goes rigid and behind her, out the back window, Sam sees the environment disappear into an explosion of blinding light. When his sight clears, they don't seem to be on the same highway.

"What the hell did you do?" Dean demands, swerving as he turns his head sharply to look at Kali.

"Saving our asses," she retorts in a clipped tone. Her eyes fix on Sam. She says nothing for a long time, and he feels pinned in place, unable to read her expression or guess what she might do.

Dean breaks the silence although neither Sam nor Kali look at him. "What just happened?" his voice is low, tone suggesting that he already has a guess.

Sam finds himself answering, "Gabriel's dead."

Kali's lips press into a thin line. She doesn't look away. Even though she's silent, Sam knows he's right.

"Damn it," Dean mutters. He slaps the steering wheel. " _Damn it_. You fucking morons!"

"Do _not,_ " Kali growls, gaze finally shifting to the side to glare at Dean. Amazingly, he quiets. When she seems assured that he won't speak, Kali returns her attention to Sam. She reaches into her shirt and pulls out a couple of tiny glass vials. "Here. Do what you will." She crushes the glass in her hand, and the dark drops of blood smear against her palm. "Fuck your Apocalypse."

With a burst of flame, she vanishes. Dean swears again. "Sam, I need your eyes. Where the hell are we now?" Sam turns around properly in his seat and stares blindly out the window for a while, not sure he'll even see the road signs when they pass them. His pulse isn't racing anymore, but in the absence, he feels... empty.

"He didn't want to kill his brothers," Sam murmurs numbly.

Silence greets his statement.

 

\- - -

 

The three hunters are in a bit of a daze as they pile into the cab of the pickup. Crowley taps Jo on the shoulder before she closes the door. This time, all three hunters are squishing onto the front seat, no one willing to climb into the back.

"Phone," Crowley says, pointing to Jo's pocket. "Reservation's made." With a little salute, he disappears.

Jo closes the door before pulling out her phone. She frowns down at the screen until she pulls up the text message with directions. "Guess we've got a place for the night," she tells Bobby.

"Better be close," he grumbles. He sounds hoarse, and his eyes are still a little glossy. They had all made it out of the building on their own two feet, though, so hopefully they won't suddenly end up in a ditch.

Ellen wraps an arm around Jo's shoulders as they pull out of the parking lot. Jo leans her head against her mom's shoulder and gives Bobby directions. They end up at a hotel that looks a fair bit better than a hunter usually puts money toward. Bobby lets Ellen and Jo out at the front door before going to park. Ellen takes the lead to the desk and puts on a charming smile despite her visible exhaustion.

The reservation is under Harvelle and apparently they have a suite on the uppermost floor. With keys in hand, they wait by the elevators for Bobby. He comes in with a duffel over his shoulders. He accepts his key-card with a grunt, and they ride up in silence. Everyone is clearly dead on their feet, still feeling the echoes of Pestilence's illnesses. Jo just feels grateful that the active symptoms stopped. Crowley said they should recover with the Horseman dead.

The room's fold-out couch is already open and made up with its pillows and blankets. Through the double doors, a pair of queen beds looks welcoming. Jo heads through the main room to drop face-first onto a bed. She groans happily at the softness of the mattress. "Can we just let me chill here for a few days?" she mumbles into the bedspread.

"Rest up, we'll need to head back in the morning," Ellen says, though she sounds like she wouldn't be opposed to Jo's idea. "You okay on the pull-out, Bobby?"

"Shouldn't the young'un be stuck on the springs?"

Jo rolls onto her back and kicks off her shoes. "I was the first one to claim a bed. Mom can sleep out there."

"Lady's choice," Ellen counters.

Jo lifts her head enough that she can see Bobby drop the bag and sit on the couch bed. He looks a little surprised. "Actually, should be fine," he says.

"Awesome. Let's sleep." Jo drops her head and closes her eyes. She sighs, already feeling consciousness start to ebb away.

"Not quite, love," Crowley's voice pulls her back. Jo cracks an eye open and turns her head to glare at the demon standing at the side of her bed. "Best check in with Tweedle Dee and Dum."

"You could call," Jo argues petulantly.

Ellen pats Jo's arm as she heads toward the bathroom. "Just give 'em a call. We should all wash up before crashing, anyway."

Jo heaves a put-upon sigh as she pulls out her phone. She goes through the steps of calling mostly by muscle memory. She continues to glare at Crowley as he takes a seat on the edge of her bed.

It takes several rings for Sam to pick up. His voice sounds tense when he answers. "Jo?"

There's something in his tone that sets her on edge. Her eyes dart to Crowley as she asks, "Are you guys okay?"

Sam takes a moment to answer. "We are now. But we haven't gotten to Chicago yet."

Crowley makes a gesture for Jo to take the phone from her ear. She hits speaker and sets it on the bed. "Sounds like you found trouble on the way?"

"More than you'd think." Sam's voice muffles for a moment; Jo thinks she hears him say Dean's name. "Ah, look, we're going to be behind for a while. We got diverted, so we're kind of on the wrong side of Illinois."

"How'd you manage that?" Bobby asks. Jo missed him coming into the room. He stands near Crowley, frowning down at the phone.

"Short version? Bunch of pagan gods laid a trap, called in Lucifer and were slaughtered; Gabriel got us out, and his old flame moved us across state lines."

Crowley's lips press into a thin line. Jo sits up fully, crossing her legs and leaning forward. She wishes she could see Sam's face. Although she already suspects the answer, she asks quietly, "Where's Gabriel?"

"Dead."

"Fuck," Crowley mutters.

"How do you know you're in the clear?" Bobby asks, looking more alert than he's been since before they entered the medical center.

Sam releases a shuddering breath. "We've been driving peacefully for the past twenty minutes? I don't know, it's a guess. But Lucifer was back there, so I'd think if we had a tail, I wouldn't be talking to you right now."

"How far from Chicago?" Crowley interrupts.

Sam's voice drifts from the phone again as he asks Dean the question. When he comes back he says, "We think about two hours."

"If you still don't see signs of a trail, take the night," Bobby suggests. "We've got Pestilence's ring but need to rest up."

"Everyone alright?" Sam asks.

"Exhausted, but breathing," Jo assures him. "You guys need any help?"

Sam takes a moment before responding. "When we get into town, we could use some help narrowing down the search. Crowley, you mind joining us?"

The demon makes a face. "Need someone to hold your hand?" he mocks. He doesn't let Sam reply; "Call me in the morning, Moose."

"Yeah. Sounds good. Want me to let you know when we get into the city?" Sam asks, likely directed at Jo.

"Text. If I'm asleep, I might miss it, but it'll be good to know you guys are alright." She picks up the phone, switching it off speaker. Bobby takes the hint and walks away. Crowley stays put, watching Jo through narrowed eyes. " _Are_ you alright?" she asks quietly. She glares at Crowley for a moment before turning away for the pretense of privacy.

Sam huffs an unhappy laugh. "Not really? We aren't hurt. But it was close. If Gabriel hadn't..." he trails off.

"I'm sorry," Jo murmurs. She blinks quickly, trying to relieve the sting in her eyes. _Guess he stepped up when it counted,_ she thinks, remembering Gabriel's intense golden stare as he'd left them after Sam's return from Heaven.

"Yeah." They don't say anything for a while. Finally Sam lets out a breath and says, "Sleep. I'll let you know what's going on later. We'll get this wrapped up and regroup at Bobby's."

"Good luck," Jo says. "Be careful."

"You, too."

Jo stares at the screen after hanging up, wondering about the details of what happened. Crowley's hand appears in front of her, and he takes the phone. She glances over at him, surprised by the invasion of her personal space.

"Wash up and sleep," he tells her, expression blank. He's too good at hiding his emotions when he wants for her to pick up on what he's thinking. "I might as well scout ahead if they're not in Chicago 'til later."

"Don't you ever need to rest?" Jo asks as she unfolds her legs with a wince. 

Ellen's futzing with the coffee maker in the other room. Judging by the sound of running water, Bobby is in the bathroom.

"Not mortal," Crowley replies without really answering the question. He stands up, setting Jo's phone on the side table.

Jo takes off her jacket and begins unstrapping her weapons. As she sets aside Sam's knife, she recalls Crowley's gun. "Hey, what was with the gun you had earlier?"

Crowley squints at her, as if judging how likely she is to let it go. Jo glares back at him, crossing her arms. The demon snorts quietly, a small smirk darting across his lips and gone again.

"You win. It's the Colt, love."

Jo feels her mouth drop open in surprise. "But... Bobby said it'd been lost."

"Just appropriated," Crowley corrects.

"It's supposed to kill anything," Jo says through clenched teeth. Anger builds in her chest. "They could have _used it_ to kill Lucifer if Sam had it!"

Crowley raises a hand at her shout and matches her glare for glare. Bobby and Ellen are speaking in the background, but Jo's attention is only for the demon, who may have just screwed them over.

" _Almost_ anything," Crowley counters. His glare turns to the other hunters for a moment, sending a quelling look at them until they quiet and glare in return. He turns back to Jo, raising an eyebrow as he asks, "Do you think I wouldn't look into the possibility?"

"I don't know _what_ to think," Jo tells him crossly.

Crowley's frown deepens. "The gun was made to kill _demons._ Just so happens it does a decent job of taking out some of your creepy-crawlies. Angels, maybe. _Archangels?_ Well, that's a whole different animal." Crowley pauses, gaze locked with Jo's.

She takes a minute to consider the possibilities. With a shaky breath, she agrees, "Probably."

Crowley nods shortly. "Exactly. Now we just heard about Gabriel's demise. Do you really think a gun could've helped?"

Jo's shoulders slump, and she feels more exhausted than when she stumbled out the doors of the medical center earlier. " _Fine._ I just hope someone's got an idea for how the hell we're getting the Devil back in the Cage."

Crowley says nothing, but there's a flash of emotion that crosses his expression that makes Jo suspicious. Too tired to call him out on it, she trudges towards the bathroom. She doesn't listen to whatever Bobby says to Crowley as she shuts the door behind her.

 

\- - -

 

Sam jolts awake at the feel of the Impala drifting onto the shoulder of the highway. He rubs his eyes and stretches out the crick in his neck. Chicago's downtown skyline is visible in the distance.

"Do you want to stop for the night?" Sam asks. Dean casts him a skeptical look. However, despite having just woken up from a nap, Sam isn't sure he wants to put this off. The Apocalypse is ever looming, and he feels uncomfortable delaying their search for Death. "We could try getting this done tonight."

Dean shrugs, frowning. "If it's really not going to be much of a fight..." He doesn't continue as a tinny rendition of AC/DC fills the car. Dean takes a hand off the wheel to pull his phone from his pocket. He glances down at the screen briefly to accept the call. "Hello?" A moment later, a look of surprise and relief crosses his expression. "Cas? Thank God." He pulls a face at whatever the reply is; Sam imagines it's something to the effect of _"My Father has nothing to do with it."_

"Where is he?" Sam prompts. Dean shoots him an irritated look but still asks the question.

"Really? Well we're coming up on Chicago, you can zap in to— Oh." Dean's expression shutters, and he shakes his head a little. "Sorry to hear it," he mumbles. "Ah, look, can you stay on the line? I'm with Sam, and we can make a call." He waits out whatever the response is. "Yeah, fine. Call back in like fifteen minutes? We'll figure it out, Cas." He licks his lips before adding softly, "Glad you're alright." Whatever the response is makes Dean roll his eyes.

As soon as Dean drops the phone onto the seat, Sam asks, "What's going on?"

Dean keeps his eyes on the road as he signals to take the next exit. "He's in some hospital and apparently mojo-less. We've got a de-powered angel on Team Free Will." Sam wants to ask about the group name, curious when Dean came up with it, but there are more important things. "I'm thinking we call up the red-eyed bastard, track down Death to wrap this up as quick as possible, and have Castiel zapped up to meet us." He shoots Sam an unreadable look. "If you really think we can trust the S.O.B. not to stab Cas in the back."

Sam holds in an exasperated sigh as he glares back. "He'll bitch about it, but Crowley's good for it." He pulls out his phone, dialing the demon and wondering if he's still with Jo.

"Aren't you resting your fragile mortal minds?" Crowley says in lieu of greeting.

"Change of plan. We just heard from Castiel. Dean's pulling off, but we want to keep things moving. Can you help narrow down Death's location? And, ah—"

"Pick up your brother's wayward angel?" Crowley asks, sounding long-suffering. "Let me guess, baby bird's finally used up the rest of his juice."

"Something like that," Sam agrees with a wince.

"Fine. I'm not your damn valet, though, so I'll get the little-angel-that-could into your care, and you'll deal with him from there."

"All I'm asking," Sam confirms. He takes note of the street name as Dean turns into an alley behind a boarded-up building. He relays an estimate of the address and as soon as he does, the call disconnects. Dean puts the Impala in park and looks over at Sam with an expression asking _"Well?"_

"Give it a minute," Sam says. He steps out of the car and takes the opportunity to stretch.

They have to wait a few minutes before Crowley makes his appearance. The demon ignores Dean, placing his focus on Sam. "Town is full of reapers," he relays, voice tense. "Matches indications that the city's about to be wiped off the map."

" _What?_ You never mentioned that!" Dean shouts, making a move to invade Crowley's personal space.

"Why are we just hearing about this?" Sam demands.

Crowley holds up a hand. "You'd get distracted from the important things. Now, do you want to waste time arguing or work on doing your _job?_ "

Dean opens his mouth but gets cut off as his phone rings. He sends another glare at Crowley before turning away to answer the phone, hopefully Castiel.

Sam crosses his arms and fixes Crowley with a disapproving glower. "I don't like being kept in the dark," he bites out. "Is there something _else_ we need to know before going in?"

The demon pulls out what looks like a hand scythe from his coat and holds it up. "In case the meeting goes less than well." Crowley holds out the scythe. "Death's own," he notes.

Sam takes the weapon carefully, feeling an ominous aura around the weapon. He isn't sure he wants to keep it. "This isn't reassuring."

"Not my job to ease your fears," Crowley says. He cocks his head in Dean's direction, clearly eavesdropping. "Angel's in the South. Want him before or after you deal with Death?"

Dean apparently hears the question since he replies, "Get Cas."

Crowley gives Dean a sarcastic salute before disappearing.

"Hey, Cas heads—" Crowley reappears with a worse-for-wear Castiel standing unsteadily at his side. Dean moves forward immediately to brace Castiel with a hand on his shoulder. "You really don't look so good."

The angel looks more than a little disgruntled. "I do not appreciate the aches of this body."

Crowley pats the angel's arm before stepping away. "Buck up, there's a celestial being still buried in that sack of meat."

"How do you know?" Dean counters, looking doubtful.

"Have you met me?" Crowley returns crossly. "Moose, you look like you're about to drop that." Sam looks down at the scythe in his hand and realizes that he's holding it at almost arm's length. Crowley shakes his head and snaps his fingers in Dean's direction. "Oi, Squirrel, take it before he bungles it."

Dean hesitates, checking on Castiel before approaching Sam and gingerly taking the scythe. "And what the hell is this?"

"Death's scythe," Castiel says, eyes widening. "How did you—?"

"That'd be telling," Crowley interrupts. He looks the angel over from head to toe. "You'll be useless tonight. Let these two handle this, you need sleep."

Castiel glowers at Crowley. "I take no orders from you, demon."

"No skin off my nose," Crowley sneers. He turns back to Sam. "Your decision. I don't recommend it. I'm off to find your man, back in a jiff." He vanishes, more dramatically than usual, leaving behind a plume of smoke thick with the smell of sulfur. Castiel coughs, nose wrinkling.

"What are you doing here?" Castiel asks, which is when Sam realizes how much the angel has missed in the past few days. He exchanges a look with his brother, silently debating who is going to explain. 

"And why do you need Death's scythe?" Castiel adds, leaning forward a bit as he peers at the weapon in Dean's hand.

"So, you see..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the life of me I couldn't figure out what nickname for Crowley to use for Cas. (Probably would help if I'd watched the show recently.) A place holder, before I used "baby bird", was 'little boy blue" - I don't know why that came to mind.
> 
> Re: HotG & Gabriel. I had a difficult time deciding whether or not to include a DVD. Given how late I got around to editing, I went the simple route of letting it go because: 1) the info of the canon DVD was already given; and 2) Gabriel isn't shown to have any particular attachment to the main cast in this story.


	14. and hell followed with him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue adapted from "Two Minutes to Midnight"

Sam suspects Crowley used some demonic powers to ensure a parking space for the Impala. Dean eyes the only empty spot along the street suspiciously, but he pulls into place. Sam looks into the back seat where Castiel is curled up, sound asleep with his head pillowed on his bent arm and folded trench coat.

"This better go smoother than the usual gig," Dean mutters as he glances at the angel. "He's not up for anything."

Sam silently agrees. They both get out of the car, closing the doors more gently than usual. Castiel doesn't twitch.

"Sleeps like the dead," Crowley comments from Sam's side. Dean startles at his sudden appearance, but Sam anticipated the demon.

"So we're here because..." Dean prompts, frowning at the demon from the opposite side of the car.

"Pizza. Little joint, family owned, rave reviews..." Crowley points to a brick building across the way. The awning over the door is a little worse for wear, and the yellowed sconces don't do the appearance any favors in the evening light.

"Dude, I've had my fill for the day."

"Popular place, strangely empty," the demon says, continuing from where he left off. "Reapers all over town but this seems to be the eye of the storm."

Sam glances side-long at Crowley. "So Death's inside... doing what?"

Crowley gives Sam a sour look. " _Eating,_ I imagine."

"Do I want to know?" Sam asks rhetorically, turning his attention back to the building.

"We're so boned," Dean groans.

Sam steps around the car to draw even with Dean. "Ready?" he asks.

Dean grimaces. "As ever." He lifts the scythe to eye it skeptically. "This thing really gonna work on something like Death?" he asks over his shoulder.

"Supposedly," Crowley replies. Both brothers turn to give him irritated looks. The demon shrugs. "Who's to know? It's the best you're getting. Try _not_ needing it."

"You coming?" Dean asks.

"To hold your hand? No, thank you. Devil should have enough of a leash on him to keep you Vessels alive. There's no protection for the rest of the club." Crowley steps back, brushing off his sleeves. "Have fun, boys. Cheers."

Dean mutters a curse as the demon vanishes. "I am _not_ feeling encouraged," he grumbles to Sam as they start across the street. The entire block is eerily quiet. Cars and people move along the cross streets but seem to ignore the area around the pizzeria. At the door, Dean and Sam exchange a cautious look.

Sam goes in first, hoping that they might mask the fact that they're armed. He suddenly wishes for Ruby's knife. Even though he doubts it would do anything to Death itself, he'd appreciate the security of a familiar weapon.

In the middle of an otherwise empty dining room, a tall, lean man sits at a table with his back to the door. His suit is midnight black and drapes across his shoulders like a royal mantle. The Horseman's posture is perfect as he lifts a slice of pizza from the pie and onto his plate. Sam and Dean move quietly across the floor.

"Gentlemen." There is a depth to the voice, something beyond the pitch that speaks of immense power. It reminds Sam of the resonance of angels' voices. "You're late." 

Death does not turn around as he raises his hand. Suddenly, Dean hisses, and Sam turns in alarm. The scythe in Dean's hand glows with heat. He lets go, and the scythe flies through the air — narrowly missing Sam — and into Death's raised hand. "Thank you for returning this. Now, have a seat, and let's have a civil discussion."

Dean grimaces at his reddened hand. He glances at Sam and shrugs, making a face that communicates a silent _"What else are we going to do?"_

Giving up the quiet movements of their earlier attempt at stealth, the brothers walk over to the table. Sam hesitates behind a chair, taking a long moment to look at the last Horseman. Death's large nose and receding hairline somehow make the gaunt face look regal. Unlike War or Famine, he radiates an unshakable calm. The aura of power is strong, adding a certain pressure to the air, but despite it giving Sam goosebumps, there is something different from the others. Death lifts his eyes to Sam and cocks his head. "It's impolite to just stand there."

Sam and Dean sit.

"Have a slice," Death invites as he lifts his own. Sam stares blankly at the Horseman eating a piece of pizza as if it's something he does regularly. Dean slowly takes a slice from the pie in the middle of the table. Death's lips twitch into a small smile as Dean begins nibbling. "So," Death says when he finishes chewing, "you have come to ask about this." He holds up his hand, ring catching the light as he turns his hand.

"Yes," Sam answers. The direct approach seems like their only option. "We want to—"

"Return Lucifer to his time-out box, yes." Death pushes aside his plate and rests his clasped hands on the table in front of him. "And you understand what it will take?" His gaze holds Sam's. It feels like the Horseman is gazing into his very soul, reading more than just his mind. Sam swallows hard, feeling increasingly tense as it occurs to him that Death may know his plan. 

"We'll do whatever it takes," Dean says. "Is this ring thing really going to work?"

Death arches an eyebrow at Sam before turning his attention to the elder Winchester. "Oh, the rings are indeed the keys to Lucifer's Cage. It seems mine is the last. I'm inclined to lend it to you." There is a silent _but_ hanging in the air. Sam feels Dean glance at him but can't make himself look over. He feels frozen, certain that Death knows his intentions.

"And what do you want?" Dean asks.

Death sneers slightly, a momentary break in his otherwise placid expression. For a few moments, what looks like a silver collar and chain become visible around the Horseman's neck. "This leash severed. It is insulting, a child with a temper tantrum trying to use me as his personal attack dog." Death shakes his head and the image vanishes. "It is a petty little spell, but effective none the less. It is why I have been waiting for _you_ to come to me."

"Alright, so you don't want to be under the Devil's thumb. That's something we've got in common." Dean leans forward, drumming his fingers on the table. "But what's the _catch?_ "

Death says, "You must agree to your brother's plan. You will not impede him."

"What?" Dean startles, straightening up. Sam can see Dean giving him a suspicious look from the corner of his eye. "What the hell's he talking about?"

Sam can't meet his brother's eyes. He fixes his stare on the Horseman, more willing to meet that fathomless gaze than face his brother. Dean says his name quietly. Sam has to swallow before he can speak. "Even if we open the Cage, there's... W-we have to get Satan back in." He closes his eyes as he continues, "I can do it. I'll—"

"Don't finish that sentence," Dean growls. Sam shakes his head, hating that tone of voice. "I don't even want to know what _idiotic_ —"

"His idea is inspired," Death interrupts. Sam opens his eyes, staring in surprise at the Horseman. Death's gaze has returned to Dean, and his expression is stern. "I will not give up my ring for idle games as you fumble for some plan that spares all sacrifice. I am so very old, Dean, and I have seen more than you can _ever_ imagine. Everything in creation has its time. I weary of the players in this foolish Apocalypse toying with life and death."

"We'll finish this _without_ Sammy sacrificing himself," Dean argues, shooting Sam a fierce glare. "You just talked me out of giving into Michael, now _you_ want to say 'yes'?" he hisses.

Sam reluctantly turns to face his brother. This is not how he wanted to reveal his plan. "No, not really. But think about it. _How_ do we get him in the Cage? He's not a dog that'll follow a bone we throw in. I could..." He trails off to take a deep breath. His heart feels like it's working overtime. "Bobby broke through Meg's control. He fought off the possession, got her out. If we get the Cage open, and I say... I can just..." He forces a crooked smile on his lips as he finishes, "Jump in."

" _No,_ " Dean spits the word like a curse. He shoves back from the table and stands up to start pacing. " _No way_ you're doing this to me."

Death sits back in his chair, looking unimpressed. "You realize this family drama is what lends similarity to the archangels." Sam doesn't see how this is supposed to calm Dean down; then again, Death probably doesn't care. "You swear that you will do anything to put a stop to the end of the world, yet you turn around and deny a valid plan."

"There's another way!" Dean shouts, spinning on his heel to point at Death.

"You're so sure? Please, _enlighten_ us." Death spreads his hands in invitation.

Dean's lips press into a thin line, but of course he has no retort.

Sam says quietly, "I've been thinking about this for a while, Dean. It's my choice. I talked it over with Crowley and—"

"Fuck that red-eyed bastard! He put you up to this, didn't he? Scummy little _coward_ has us all doing the dirty work, not—"

" _Dean!_ " Sam glares at his brother. Dean stays silent, but his jaw visibly clenches as he holds back further comment. "It's _my_ idea. I just needed some assurance it would really work. He thinks it will. I knew you'd hate it, hell, _everyone's_ going to be pissed, so I was waiting until we got all the rings to have it out."

"It is your best course of action," Death intervenes coolly. His hands are clasped in front of him again. He turns his stern stare from Sam to Dean. "I will have your vow to let your brother jump into that fiery pit, or we have no deal."

Dean stares at Death, face pale where moments ago he had been flushed with anger.

"Dean..." Sam murmurs.

Death glances at Sam. "Perhaps it is best your brother and I have a private chat." He lifts a hand, and before Sam can protest, he finds himself seated in the front seat of the Impala.

Sam tugs on the door handle without success. He tries the other doors with similar results. Cursing to himself, he almost misses the groan from the backseat. Glancing over, he sees Castiel blinking sleepily.

"Sam? Are we there?" he asks through a sleep-heavy voice.

"Sure." Sam stares out the window at the pizzeria, wondering what Death is saying to convince Dean to come around. "But we're stuck in here for now."

That seems to wake Castiel. The angel pushes himself upright and looks around the car, frowning. "Where is Dean?"

Sam slumps against the backrest with a sigh. "Death wanted to have a private chat. Dean doesn't like the terms for getting the ring."

"What is it Death demands?"

Grimacing to himself, Sam confesses, "That I jump into the Cage, taking Lucifer with me."

A long silence follows his reply. Sam would turn around if he thought seeing Castiel's expression would give him a clue to the angel's reaction. Instead, he stays where he is, staring up at the Impala's roof.

Eventually Castiel speaks. "That is an interesting plan."

Sam huffs a surprised laugh. " _That's_ an understatement," he mutters. "So? Will you tell me it's a stupid plan and doomed to failure?"

"If that is what you wish," Castiel replies, serious as ever. Sam sits up a little so that he can turn to face the angel. Castiel's expression is thoughtful as he meets Sam's gaze. "However, there are limited options. You and Dean also have a habit of exceeding my expectations."

Sam feels his eyebrows arch in surprise. "Really?"

"I will not say it is a bad plan. But it is no simple task. Sam, if you fail, the fallout will be unimaginable." His stare is gravely serious. "Michael has a suitable vessel. If you say yes to Lucifer and are unable to regain control, this fight _will_ happen."

"The damage if we _don't_ try—"

"I merely wish to point out the considerations," Castiel interrupts. He tilts his head slightly. "There is also the matter of demon blood."

Sam closes his eyes with a grimace. Quietly, he says, "Yeah... Crowley talked to me about it."

"Interesting." Castiel says nothing else.

They sit in silence for long minutes, staring out the windows as they wait.

Eventually, Dean pushes out the door of the pizzeria and strides across the street. His expression seems set in stone, but he is pale and Sam recognizes the redness around his eyes. Sam slides away from the driver's side as Dean yanks open the door with no resistance. Without looking at his brother, Dean slams the door shut and starts the engine.

"Do you have the ring?" Castiel asks.

"Yeah," Dean bites out. "Here." He flicks the ring at Sam so abruptly that Sam almost misses it.

He spares a glance at the heavy ring before looking up at his brother's profile. "Dean, I'm sor—"

" _Not now._ " Dean pulls out from the curb and applies a heavy foot to the gas. 

Sam slides the ring into his pocket and settles into his seat. As he pulls his seatbelt on, he remembers to tell Castiel to do the same. It's always a rough ride when Dean is this worked up.

 

\- - -

 

Jo sits on Bobby's front porch with a beer and Crowley for company. The demon leans against one of the posts at the top of the steps, his gaze focused on something across the yard. She thinks he may be watching for the Impala. They haven't talked much since they arrived a few hours ago. Her mom and Bobby are inside, possibly researching how to proceed, possibly sorting out a meal.

"Know anything about how things went down in Chicago?" Jo eventually asks. She woke up to a text from Sam saying they acquired Death's ring. No details. He did add that Castiel is with them.

Crowley glances at her sidelong. "I left them to it. City's still standing, and they're making it back on their own. Count it as a win."

"You can't tell me you don't have a guess," she says.

The demon makes a face. "What do you care about conjecture? We'll have answers soon, love."

Jo shrugs. "Sure, but I'm curious about what's got you antsy."

Crowley straightens up with a scowl. "I am not 'antsy.'"

"Near enough." She cocks her head to the side. "Seriously, something's up."

Shaking his head, the demon turns to the front door. "We'll find out soon enough. Car's pulling in." With that said, he enters the house.

Jo finishes off her beer and stands up. The Impala drives into view and parks next to Bobby's truck. As soon as the brothers exit the car, she can tell there's something wrong. Jo sets aside her beer bottle and goes down the steps. She focuses on Sam, approaching him with concern when she sees the tension in his shoulders.

"Hey, glad you made it back," she greets. She darts a quick look at the others, noting Dean's tight jaw and Castiel's weary posture. Hesitantly, she asks, "What happened?"

Dean casts her a dark look before stomping off. Castiel heaves a sigh and follows more slowly. Feeling uneasy, Jo reaches out to touch Sam's arm. "Hey, what's going on?"

Sam covers her hand with his own, a wan smile crossing his lips. "Might as well tell everyone at once." He shakes his head when she opens her mouth to protest. "Really. I've already had to go over this twice."

As Jo walks at Sam's side towards the steps, she offers, "Third time's the charm?" He grimaces. "Guess not," she mutters.

They hear Dean shouting as they reach the front door. Sam groans softly, covering his face with one hand. Jo pulls open the door and guides him inside.

"—know about it?"

"I still don't know what you're yammering about," Bobby's raised voice replies. "Would you calm down?"

"He wants to—"

"Let Moose explain himself," Crowley's voice cuts in on the sudden silence. Jo and Sam cross into the living room to find Dean's lips pinched tightly shut, apparently against his will if the deadly glare he's directing at Crowley is any indication. "Ah. Look at that, hardly any patience called for."

Sam looks exasperated. "Let him go, Crowley."

The demon curls his lip at the elder Winchester as he flicks his fingers. Dean gasps loudly but remarkably holds his tongue. Bobby and Ellen look at the gathered group with wary expressions.

"Someone want to explain what happened?" Bobby demands. Everyone's attention goes to Sam.

The younger Winchester quickly looks down at his own feet and crosses his arms. "So, we've got the keys..." He clears his throat as he shifts restlessly from foot to foot. "And I... I have a plan to get Lucifer, ah, into the Cage." 

Dean's pale face and Sam's averted gaze do nothing to encourage Jo's confidence in this plan. "Sam...?"

"A simple trick's not going to get him in," Sam says in a rush. "So I'll say yes and jump in."

Silence falls thickly over the room. Jo stares at him incredulously, certain she misinterpreted his words. Glancing around, she sees Dean has turned away, shoulders tense; Castiel looks solemn; Bobby and her mom look as stunned as she feels; and Crowley stands to the side, calmly watching Sam.

"I'm _sorry?_ " Ellen finally says.

Bobby's eyes narrow. "Didn't we just get done talking your brother off the ledge?"

Sam grimaces. "What else are we going to do?" he asks wearily.

"Something else! _Anything_ else!" The protest bursts from Jo's lips without thought. She turns to face Sam and grips his arms. "You're _not_ doing this!"

"How do you think you're pulling this off, anyway?" Bobby asks.

Jo stares at Sam's bowed head, cold washing through her as she realizes that he's made up his mind.

"You broke through, Bobby," he replies. "You got Meg out of you by yourself. I can— _I'll_ still be in there. Lucifer won't burn me out."

"You can't know that," Jo argues, trying to shake him. "How do you _know_ that?"

"Sam," Bobby sighs. "What I did, it was a one in a million shot. And that was a two-bit _demon_. We're talking the Devil himself, here."

Castiel speaks up. "Sam is a true Vessel with a strong spirit. He will not be burned from his body." He pauses for a moment, but Jo has eyes only for Sam, who still won't look at her. "It is possible. There is an additional advantage for Sam."

"And what's that?" Ellen asks, skepticism clear in her tone.

Crowley answers, "Demon blood."

Dean punches the wall, the sound causing Jo to jump. She finally looks away from Sam. Dean's fist is partially buried in Bobby's old wallpaper-covered wall.

When no one speaks, Castiel clears his throat. "Demon blood has helped prepare Sam to be Lucifer's Vessel, but it also lends a certain... strength to be used to our advantage."

"I don't like this," Bobby grumbles.

Jo turns back to Sam, tightening her hold on his arms. " _Sam?_ How can you think of doing this? You can't—"

"It's the only way," Sam tells her quietly. Finally he lifts his head a little, and she meets his red-rimmed gaze. "Death even gave the go-ahead; it's why we got the ring." Jo shakes her head in denial. Sam frees an arm to raise a hand to her cheek. It's only when his thumb wipes away a tear that Jo realizes she's silently crying. "I've thought it over, talked to Crowley—"

" _You!_ " Jo lets go of Sam and whirls on the demon. "What do you think you're doing? Why'd you plant this _stupid_ idea in his head?" The demon doesn't move as she stalks toward him. His expression remains blank, but she sees a flicker of emotion in his dark eyes. "After _everything_ we've been through!"

"Jo, it's my idea," Sam argues.

Castiel says, "As much as I wish I had another suggestion, I do not believe there is any. With the approval from Death, it seems this is the correct course of action."

"We can't just give up," Ellen counters.

"We only just started looking at the next steps. This doesn't have to be the final plan," Bobby adds. "Let's everybody cool off and use some brainpower to find another option."

"There isn't going to be one," Sam counters, huffing an irritated sigh. "At least nothing that's got a better chance."

"What if you fail, huh?" Bobby's voice sharpens. "We better think this through before deciding anything."

"I already—"

" _All_ of us," the older hunter cuts in.

" _Fine._ Look for something else. I'll be waiting for you to come around."

Dean's muttered, "Fuck this," is almost lost in the sound of stomping feet as he storms from the room. Jo watches his retreating back with a sense of hollowness filling her gut. Castiel follows Dean after a moment. Bobby just shakes his head as he scowls at the spread of books covering the kitchen table.

"Jo," Ellen says quietly, beckoning her daughter forward. Jo shakes her head sharply, turning back to Crowley with a glare. She hears her mom sigh but doesn't face an argument.

"We need to talk," Jo tells the demon. She grabs onto the front of his coat and heads for the front door. He lets her drag him along. After a moment, she hears Sam's footsteps following them. On the porch she lets Crowley go but keeps moving into the yard. 

"Is this where the yelling starts?" the demon asks when they're some distance from the house.

Jo whirls on him, ignoring Sam for the moment. " _How could you do this?_ " she yells.

Crowley crosses his arms, glaring at her. "The only thing _I_ had to do with this is helping you lot gather the rings."

She turns on Sam. "Why do you think I'd believe this is your idea? After everything that's _happened_ , the _nightmares_ and—"

"Jo." His quiet intonation of her name somehow makes the rest of her words stick in her throat. "It really is _my_ idea," he continues gently. "I talked to Crowley about it, wanted to find out what someone else thought and find out if I was just thinking crazy."

"You _are_ ," she argues stubbornly.

Sam smiles sadly at her. "I'm not so sure."

"You can't think that we'll _let_ you do this." Jo clenches her fingers into fists at her sides. Her breath shudders in her chest as her gaze darts between her two friends. "We're doing this _together;_ how's that supposed to happen if you go jumping off the deep end?"

"Look, I'm not going to do anything before we take a vote—"

"I'm against it," Jo interrupts. "You're not changing my mind."

Sam rubs a hand over his face as Crowley huffs a laugh. Jo glares at him, but the demon just smirks. "You sound like you're turning into fun-sized Moose," he tells her. "Use that brain of yours, love."

"It's too early to call it!" she bites out.

Sam holds his hands up, palms out. "Okay," he says gently, and she hates that he's trying to sooth her. She's been the one protecting him; he isn't supposed to be the one calming her. "I'll let you guys look at other options. But we're on a deadline — Lucifer's going to know something's happening, with most of the Horsemen dead."

"We're going to find another way."

Sam offers a humorless smile. "Maybe. But if not, I'd really appreciate your support." His expression falls and his gaze averts from Jo's. "You've been... It's important to me, Jo."

She's vaguely aware of Crowley disappearing as she closes the distance between herself and Sam. She wraps her arms tight around him and presses her face against his chest. Sam returns the embrace just as fiercely, and she feels his cheek press against the top of her head.

Her voice comes out muffled as she says, "You're not gonna do it."

Sam shushes her gently as he rubs her back. Jo holds in a sob for as long as she can before she lets it go.

 

\- - -

 

Crowley looks bored while he waits for Sam to double- and triple-check their surroundings. The human doesn't let that bother him. Although he doesn't think anyone noticed him leave the house, he wants to make sure no one is lingering in this part of the yard to interrupt them.

"Coast clear?" the demon stage-whispers when Sam finally turns to face him.

"Can you not—" _make this any more difficult than it already is?_ Sam means to finish before he realizes the demon probably won't care. He heaves a sigh and braces himself. He looks Crowley in the eye before he starts speaking again. The demon arches an eyebrow with an expression of haughtiness, but Sam's been around him long enough to detect genuine curiosity.

"Look, I... I need to make a deal," Sam says. He swallows hard and presses on. The demon's eyes widen in momentary surprise. "This whole mess... I know this could be a disaster. I know I have to be there and Dean will too, but I don't want Jo there. I want you to ensure she stays away from Lucifer." He takes a deep breath and admits, "I need to know she's safe."

Crowley says nothing for a long while. Red-tinted eyes stare hard at Sam, the demon's expression shuttered. Sam does his best not to fidget but can't help averting his gaze to break the unnerving eye contact.

It feels like he waits hours for Crowley to respond. Eventually, the demon steps closer, catching the hunter's gaze again.

"Use specifics, 'else you're apt to consent to unwelcome surprises," Crowley warns in a low voice.

Sam nods, feeling a little numb. "I want Jo to be _alive_ and _safe_ come the end of this Apocalypse. I want her far away and safe from the confrontation between Lucifer and Michael."

When he says nothing more, the demon moves even closer, bringing the toes of their shoes nearly together. Sam leans in instinctively, lips slightly parted as the demon raises his hands. Sam's hands find their way to the demon's waist as Crowley settles his thumbs firmly at the edge of Sam's jaw.

The hunter closes his eyes and inhales sharply at the realization that he is really going through with a Crossroads deal. He had been afraid of and so determinedly against this when Crowley first appeared in his life. He leans closer, ready for their lips to meet and seal the contract. He can feel Crowley's breath against his lips, and Sam just wants to finish this before his nerves get the better of him. He wants to be sure Jo's protected. He just wants to be able to _save_ someone.

Crowley's firm grip keeps Sam from moving any closer. The hunter blinks his eyes open as they stand frozen, bare inches from sealing the deal. Crowley's eyes, fire red, stare back at him. A moment later, the demon turns his face and yanks Sam close. His lips brush the faintest kiss along Sam's cheek.

"You're not a very good businessman," Crowley murmurs beside Sam's ear. "Never offer to pay for something already in the bargain." The demon presses a brief, intense kiss to the corner of Sam's mouth. A moment later he releases his hold on Sam and steps away. His expression is hard to read as he fixes a firm glare on the hunter. "Keep your soul, Moose."

With that, Crowley vanishes, and Sam is left staring blankly at a rusted junker. Something in his chest feels tight. He can't tell if the heat in his face is from potential tears or the faintest hint of arousal.

 

\- - -

 

No one plans to sleep tonight. Spread throughout the bottom floor, the hunters bend over laptops or Bobby's extensive collection of tomes. Castiel helps, but Crowley is missing. Jo can tell Sam isn't trying very hard, he seems more intent on wandering through the rooms and watching the others with sad eyes. Jo bites her tongue, holding desperately to her determination despite the sinking realization of just how slim their odds are of finding an alternative solution. 

She's in the kitchen making a fresh pot of coffee when Sam comes in the back door. She's surprised by his appearance, not realizing he'd gone outside. He doesn't seem to notice she's there. She clears her throat, which draws Sam's startled gaze.

They stare at each other silently for a long moment.

"Coffee?" Jo eventually offers. She finishes setting the filter and pours the water in.

"Is anyone even _trying_ to sleep?" Sam approaches her almost cautiously. Jo won't have that, so she steps to his side and leans her head against his shoulder.

"Doubt it. Caffeine's needed, though. There's a lot to look through."

Sam's arm wraps around her shoulders, and she feels his sigh against her hair. "I don't think you're going to find anything," he murmurs.

Jo swallows hard as she reaches for his hand. She squeezes his fingers tight as she chokes out hoarsely, "I know. Not gonna stop me from trying."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Sam and Crowley scene was the only bit of this story I wrote in 2015. It hit me while I was trying to work on a Marvel fic, and I rushed to get it down. It's kind of my favorite scene of this entire thing.
> 
> [Most recent edit: July 21, 2018]


	15. in this twilight our choices seal our fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue adapted from "Two Minutes to Midnight" and "Swan Song"

Crowley returns in the morning, startling Bobby and Sam in the kitchen. One look at the demon's grim expression prompts Bobby to call for the others. Sam doesn't know what to say to the demon after their meeting last night. Crowley meets his stare and quirks a challenging eyebrow. Sam feels his cheeks heat, and he looks away.

"What has happened?" Castiel asks as soon as he arrives.

Crowley pulls out a folded page from a newspaper and shakes it out. Bobby takes it as Ellen and Castiel lean in to look.

"Trouble brewing," Crowley announces.

"Niveus Pharmaceuticals shipping out swine flu vaccines?" Ellen reads aloud. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Remember the lovely swathe of illness Pestilence left in his wake?" Crowley prompts, sounding impatient.

"Couldn't it be a legitimate reaction?" Bobby asks.

Crowley seems intent on the oldest hunters in the group. "That source I told you about worked there."

Sam tries to work out what that means, it's clearly significant since Bobby nods sharply. Jo and Ellen exchange a knowing look as well.

"What are they distributing, really?" Jo asks

"Lucky money's on Croatoan virus, fresh and virulent." Crowley bares his teeth in a facsimile of a smile. "Like it or not, boys and girls, we're approaching the eleventh hour. Decision time."

Sam looks at the others, waiting for the verdict. He had walked through the house all night, watching over the group — his family — dig desperately for options. He knows they found nothing. Castiel meets his gaze first, his grim acceptance clear without words. Bobby heaves a sigh before he looks up. He looks older than ever as he gives Sam a brief nod of approval. Ellen's hand reaches for Jo's, then her gaze flicks to Sam's as she gives a brief nod. Jo turns her head away, lips trembling until she presses them into a thin, bloodless line. Dean doesn't quite meet Sam's gaze, but he offers a shaky nod.

"Well then," Crowley breaks the silence, "seems there are two tasks presently at hand."

"Wait, we do this together," Dean intervenes, frowning at the demon. "Besides, what do you mean _two_ things?"

Crowley flicks the edge of the newspaper. "Just because we're after the Devil doesn't mean this gets put on hold. Forty-eight hours 'til this all ships. Someone else you care to handle this?"

"Splitting up last time didn't exactly—" Sam starts, but Crowley cuts him off with a sharp glare.

"Outcome finished well enough. Time's even more pressing on this. We've got to get you prepared, anyway, and Lucifer's going to take notice when his plans fall through." The demon's eyes flash with red as he tilts his head. "Figured the ladies would have a good handle on taking care of the virus." Sam realizes Crowley is offering a way to keep Jo from nearing Lucifer.

"Divide and conquer?" Jo quotes sarcastically.

Crowley doesn't seem to mind her glowering. "Might even label it a distraction."

Bobby sighs and hands the paper over to Ellen. "Right. Group to Niveus, group to meet the Devil."

"We've got Niveus," Ellen says, nodding at Crowley to acknowledge his suggestion. "Go with the boys, Bobby."

Castiel turns to Dean, silent question on his face. Dean pats the angel's arm. "Yeah, you can come."

"You joining us?" Ellen directs at Crowley. The demon arches an eyebrow, looking mildly surprised.

Sam catches the demon's stare and sets his jaw stubbornly, silently asking Crowley to look after Jo. 

The demon narrows his eyes at Sam. "Fine. I'll assist the ladies at Niveus."

"They're going to need you more," Jo argues, frown tight. "We'll call in Rufus and take care of it. You go with—"

"Bloody hell, I am not a damn _babysitter!_ " The demon throws his hands up in exasperation. "Call whoever, more the merrier, doesn't change where I'm going." He turns to Dean, offering, "Want to work off some rage?"

Dean's eyes narrow. "What did you have in mind?"

Crowley's grin is full of teeth. "There are demons to bleed."

Dean glances at Castiel. "You coming?" he asks. The angel merely blinks in response. Dean turns a look to Sam, "You?"

Sam chews his lip in thought. He glances at Jo's carefully averted face and decides against demon-hunting. He shakes his head, lifting his gaze to Dean's. His brother glances at Jo and nods.

"Robert, stay or go?" Crowley invites.

"You three go, we'll sort things out here."

Crowley crooks a finger at Castiel and Dean. When they're close enough, he touches their arms and they vanish together. The remaining group exchanges glances.

"Might as well find out what we can about Niveus before we head out," Ellen says.

Bobby nods tiredly. "Take the day to ready up, get in as much sleep as possible, then head out early in the morning." Bobby hooks a thumb over his shoulder. "Sam, I'm going to start looking over indications where Satan's holed up. Could use your help."

"Sure," Sam agrees. He glances at Jo, but Ellen catches his eye. The older woman shakes her head minutely. Reluctantly, Sam leaves the room, leaving Jo alone with her mother.

When they reach the hallway, Bobby claps Sam on the shoulder and assures quietly, "You'll get a moment to talk."

Sam fully recognizes that _talk_ means _say goodbye._

 

\- - -

 

Crowley and the others haven't returned by the time Sam finally finds time alone with Jo. Ellen leads him in the right direction, her expression drawn as she directs him up the stairs. Jo sits on the edge of the bed she's sharing with her mom, gaze focused out the window. The late afternoon sun glints off the windshields and metal in the yard. She doesn't turn when the door opens, but Sam is sure she knows he's there.

Silently, he approaches and sits on the bed next to her, leaving some space between them. He stares outside and lets his thoughts drift. He wonders if he is strong enough to do this or if he's just doing exactly as the angels and demons have planned all along. The Lucifer in his dreams doesn't seem to know his plans. Maybe Sam's approach to say yes will be enough to surprise the Devil. He can hope.

Jo says, "I hate this."

He slides his gaze to her without moving his head. Her expression is pinched with emotion. He imagines that she thinks it a weakness. She has held up for months in his company, always bearing the burden of being strong and steadfast. 

"I couldn't have gotten through the year without you," he admits.

She turns her head. "You were a wreck," she agrees in a faint attempt at humor.

Sam takes it at face value, though. "We both know that's true." She grimaces. "But that's okay. We got through it." Sam turns to face her. "I thought you were _nuts,_ " he admits. "There I was, trying to get out of town on my own, and suddenly, there's a Harvelle pounding on the window and jumping in front of my truck."

Jo's lips tug up in a reluctant smile. She rolls her eyes. "I seem to remember some idiot carrying his boots, as if sneaking out in stockinged feet was gonna work."

"If you'd gone to sleep like you were supposed to, I'd have gotten away."

"Why do you think I stayed up and waited outside?" Jo arches an eyebrow at him. "I had your number, Winchester."

"I was sure your mom would find us. And maybe cut off my balls." He chuckles at the disgusted expression Jo makes. "What! It's true!"

"You are such a _guy,_ " she groans. "Ugh. But I can't say you're wrong." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before looking up to meet his gaze. "I was more than a little nervous to come back here. I wasn't sure what the hell she'd decide to do. Wasn't even sure I could protect you."

"Crowley might be onto something by calling her a mother bear," Sam says with a grin.

"Oh I don't think she's overly impressed by that," Jo replies, smirking. "I kind of like it, though."

Sam reluctantly steers them back to the more serious conversation. "I, uh, also wanted to thank you for... for convincing me. About Crowley." He looks down at his hands as he fidgets. He still feels conflicted about the alliance and tenuous friendship, if he dares to call it that, with the demon. "I wouldn't have agreed if it was just me. But... now I think it's something we needed."

Jo is slow to reply. "I'm glad you gave it a chance. Hell, I'm glad _I_ decided to give him a chance. Dunno why, but it's... worked out." She pauses for a moment, then sighs. "He doesn't say it, but there's something... He _cares,_ you know?" Sam can practically hear her shrug. "It's weird. I didn't think demons could."

Sam traces patterns on the bed's quilt with his finger. Quietly, he confesses, "I'd thought she might love me." He has never confessed this, never admitted the feeling that had been a tiny kernel of _hope_ that struggled to fight off the dark doubts when he'd been with Ruby. He swallows hard, forcing the words out now, wanting to offer this to Jo and admit to someone the grim truth before he goes. "Back when everything fell apart... Ruby, she'd helped us for a year. When she found me, it felt like she _saved_ me. So even though Dean hated it, hated _me_ , and distrusted her, I thought—" He chokes, taking in a shuddering breath.

Jo's hand covers his, stilling his fingers. She keeps her hand there, saying nothing for a long time. It gives Sam the chance to steady his breathing and loosen the lump in his throat.

"Sam, I don't think you were wrong," Jo says quietly. She squeezes his hand when he opens his mouth to protest. "I mean, about the possibility. I don't know about Ruby, that's all hearsay for me. But what I've seen now..." Sam glances up. She offers him a crooked smile and a shrug. "Who knows for sure? Angels sure aren't what we expected, but there's a couple who are okay. Who's to say demons can't be the same?" She squeezes his hand again and adopts a stern expression. "And Sam? As much as I've gotten angry with your brother, I know for damn sure he's _never_ hated you."

Sam smiles weakly and nods, acknowledging the truth of that. He and Dean have been at odds more often than not in the past two years, yet despite the pain and mistrust and anger, they're still family.

Jo's expression crumbles and her eyes begin to shine with unshed tears. "I don't want you to do this."

He feels heat building at his temples, threatening tears of his own. His chest hurts as he turns his hand over to twine his fingers between Jo's. "I _have_ to."

"You _shouldn't._ "

He smiles halfheartedly. "I let the Devil out of the box. I have to be the one to do this."

She shakes her head, eyes falling closed. "It's always been bigger than you, Sam."

"Call it my inflated sense of ego, then," he offers.

Jo opens her eyes to glare at him, so he counts it as a win. He can't think of anything else to say. Instead, he toes off his shoes and moves up the bed, opening his arms in invitation. Jo almost manages to hide a sniffle as she curls up next to him. They both need to rest, and Sam has the feeling that this is one of the times where he'll sleep better with company. He wraps his arms around her, grateful when she returns the embrace and settles herself with her head on his shoulder. He closes his eyes and just listens to their breathing fall into sync.

As he's dozing off, Sam thinks he feels Jo tense and take a breath like she's about to say something, but no words follow. Eventually, her body relaxes against his again, and he feels her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. He falls asleep dreaming of warmth and comfort under a bright summer sky.

 

\- - -

 

Jo isn't sure what wakes her, but she opens her eyes slowly, reluctant to return to reality. She can tell before she opens her eyes that some time has passed, since sunlight no longer filters through the window. She stays still, head cushioned on Sam's chest and her arm around his middle. Their legs tangled together sometime during their rest, and she hates the idea of moving. She doesn't want to wake him, nor does she want to to exit the room and face the fact that this may be their last time together. She swallows hard against the lump in her throat.

"You up?" Sam murmurs, breath tickling the top of her head.

"Yeah," Jo says on a sigh. "Was hoping you might not be."

He chuckles a little. "Yeah, well, we probably skipped out on work long enough." Although she wants to argue, Jo keeps quiet. She rolls onto her back as Sam starts pushing himself upright. She continues laying there, staring up at the ceiling, while Sam stretches and gets ready to stand. "Hey, you coming?" he asks.

"Dunno." Jo shrugs, debating her limited options. No one would fault her for getting more rest, but she doubts she can sleep now. Sam rests a hand on her shoulder. "Yeah, fine. Let's go."

Once they're both standing, they head downstairs. The radio is playing quietly in Bobby's study, but it seems like everyone is gathered in the living room.

Dean looks up when they appear in the doorway, his eyebrow raised. Castiel seems intent on examining his bottle of beer, a frown creasing his expression. Bobby waves Sam and Jo into the room. Ellen glances briefly at Sam before offering her hand to Jo. She accepts the comfort, letting her mom pull her close and wrap an arm around her shoulders.

"Think we've got this figured out," Bobby says. He taps the notebook on his knee. "Picked out some omens and Dean's pretty sure where Lucifer's holing up."

Across the room, Dean mutters, "Always gonna end in Detroit."

Jo looks around for Crowley but sees no sign of the demon. Ellen says, "Crowley's settling some supplies."

"I know you two got some beauty sleep, but the rest of us need some shut-eye. We're thinking to be out the door come four at the latest," Bobby says. "Got some take-out in the kitchen."

"Your favorites," Dean tells Sam.

"I called on Rufus," Ellen tells Jo as they turn to the kitchen. "He's in. We'll meet outside Amarillo and head into town together."

Jo keeps one ear tuned to the living room, which allows her to hear Dean and Sam excuse themselves to step outside. Castiel asks Bobby about the use of guns.

As Ellen lets go of Jo to pull out food from the containers on the counter, she asks, "You okay to go tomorrow?"

Jo runs a hand through her hair. "I have to be."

Ellen hums thoughtfully. Without looking up, she asks in a low tone, "Do you love him?"

Jo blinks, startled by the question. It isn't even something on her mind. It hasn't been a question to ponder or even consider. She swallows back an angry protest — how can her mom ask her that _now?_ What would it matter one way or another?

Ellen nods briefly and doesn't press any further. Jo supposes her silence is some kind of answer, even if she isn't sure herself what it means.

 

\- - -

 

Sam steps out of the car with a numb sense of calm washing over him. The dread he's been feeling doesn't fall away, but it's pressed aside now that they've arrived. His decision has been made for some time, and now the others have agreed. The silence weighed heavily as soon as they hit the fifty mile mark from Detroit. Dean had been tellingly tight-lipped and focused intently on the road. Castiel had finally woken up, groggy but silent as he leaned forward from the back to watch the roadway.

Now, Sam runs his hand along the curve of the Impala's door and thinks of all the times he's bitched at Dean about his disturbing attachment to the car. Sam closes the door but can't help the little pat he gives it, a goodbye to his first and long-term home.

Bobby is out of his truck and going around back to open the tailgate. Sam takes a deep breath, resigning himself to the unpleasant task of chugging demon blood. Crowley had floated the option of draining a demon live, but it brings back too many bad memories.

Sam doesn't realize Cas and Dean are hanging back until he's standing beside Bobby and the others are out of earshot. He glances over, noting how Dean's back is carefully turned towards them and his head is bent in Cas' direction.

Bobby sets a hand on the case holding the jugs of demon blood, not yet reaching to open it. Sam turns his focus to the older hunter and feels a lump in his throat. He doesn't know what to say.

With a gruff clearing of his throat, Bobby straightens up and says, "You done good, Sam. Dean and me— _I've_ been hard on you. Too hard." He chuckles unhappily. "When I chased your dad off, I swore I'd never mistake kids for soldiers; wasn't fair to you. Guess I... forgot somewhere along the way."

"Bobby—"

"Uh-uh, listen here 'cuz I sure as hell ain't got the guts to repeat it." Bobby slaps a hand on Sam's shoulder and turns so that their eyes meet. "We all 've made mistakes. No use pretending otherwise, and I ain't forgotten _that_. But I think I forgot what _you'd_ see and think. Sam, you've always been a good kid. What's happened these last years, that doesn't change it. I wish we'd found another way 'cuz this sure as hell feels like you're doing this out of a sense of atonement." Bobby swallows visibly and through his own bleary vision, Sam thinks he can see tears in the older hunter's eyes. "You don't need it, kid. You're just _human_ , and that's always been good enough for me." Bobby pulls Sam into a tight hug that feels like forgiveness and home and family.

Sam has to struggle for a few moments before he can get words out. "Thank you, Bobby. Take care of Dean, okay? Don't... don't let him be stupid."

Bobby chuckles, and if it sounds wet, well, Sam won't call him on it. "He doesn't handle wrangling well."

They step apart and as Bobby turns back to the case, he rubs a quick sleeve over his face. Sam is more obvious with rubbing his palms over his eyes. When he joins Bobby in bringing out the bottles, he is surprised — and a little disturbed — with how warm they seem.

Castiel speaks from behind Sam, "Crowley said he would keep them... palatable." Sam turns and stares at the angel in surprise. Castiel is staring at the bottles, a frown of distaste on his face. The angel looks up at Sam, his expression easing. "I suppose it is effective?" Sam huffs a laugh, shaking his head.

"Maybe. I... didn't expect that."

Castiel's expression takes on an edge of sadness as he continues to stare at Sam. He still blinks less than a regular human, and it makes the gaze all that more intense. "He is not as expected," Castiel agrees. His head tilts slightly to the side, a familiar gesture that makes Sam feel a wave of fondness. "Neither are you."

Sam shuffles his feet nervously. "Is that, um, a good thing?"

Castiel nods without hesitation and even manages a smile without looking stilted. "A very good thing. I did not understand the strength of a human spirit until I met you and your brother. I will always be grateful for this gift."

Sam can feel his eyes stinging again and wonders if he should just let loose the waterworks. By now he would have thought he was cried out. Apparently silent tears in the middle of the night without witnesses didn't help.

"Cas... thanks for everything. I can only imagine what it's been like." Sam bites his lip nervously. "Thank you for getting Dean, giving us a chance, and... well," he shrugs helplessly. "Will you continue watching out for them?"

Castiel's gaze slides away to consider Dean and Bobby, who are standing silently off to the side and staring up at the building where they believe Lucifer is residing. After a long moment, the angel nods. "To the best of my ability." He returns his gaze to Sam. His forehead furrows as he looks the human over, as if puzzling something out. Finally, he smacks Sam's arm in a stilted movement and says, with a grimace that may have been intended as a smile, "Don't worry, everything's fine."

Despite how very _not fine_ they are, Sam manages a choked-off chuckle. He bites his lips together to cut off the sound before it becomes hysterical. The calm from earlier is retreating quickly. Castiel's expression resumes something more familiar as he lets his hand drop back to his side.

"Don't know if you really want to watch me chug this," Sam says as he uncaps the first jug. The smell reaches him quickly, and his stomach turns over with the conflicting feelings of desire and disgust. Instead of walking away, Castiel moves to take a firm stand at Sam's side.

In response Sam's questioning look, the angel says, "I made a promise."

Sam doesn't ask who to; he decides just to be grateful for the support. He focuses his mind at the task to come and replays the conversation he had with Dean in the car, reminding himself that this is the path he's chosen. For this, he has the backing of everyone who matters. He purposefully pushes aside thoughts of the dimness of sigil-covered rooms, blonde hair tickling his nose, and a fierce kiss to the side of his mouth.

_"I've got your back. If anyone can do this... it's you."_

_"Not gonna stop me from trying to protect you."_

_"Keep your soul, Moose."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the second chapter where location drove me bonkers. After looking up how long it takes to drive from Sioux Falls to Detroit, I played around with possible locations for Niveus at a similar distance. Thus we end up with Amarillo.
> 
> I've gone back and forth about including Ellen's question. It's kind of cruel, but at the same time, it's a question that's haunted me throughout the story and I think it's something that's been on Ellen's mind.
> 
> Re: lack of goodbyes with Dean -- the show gave us a pretty good coverage of this. While it'd go a little differently in this 'verse, you can assume it's fairly similar. For me it was more important to write the goodbyes with other characters.
> 
> [Most recent edit: July 21, 2018]


	16. it's a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue adapted from "Swan Song"

Jo turns to face Crowley, fixing him with a stern glare from the front seat. "We didn't tell Rufus what you are." He stares at her, eyes narrowed, for long moments. She knows he's about to start shouting at her for the reminder.

He amazingly refrains from yelling, but he does growl through clenched teeth, "That's the eighth bloody time you've said that. I _know_ , love."

Jo arches her eyebrow at him, unintimidated. "Just a reminder that if you do something and he gets stabby, it's on you."

"Aw, you care," Crowley returns with sarcasm. Jo huffs as she turns around but doesn't try to counter the taunt. It is true, after all. Whether or not the demon believes that, and how he takes it, is up to him.

Outside the truck, Ellen turns to them and gives a thumbs-up. They open the doors and get out, going around back to grab the supplies. Ellen joins them. "Rufus is starting to lay out a perimeter with salt where he can. It'll limit the options for escape so we can at least funnel them a bit."

"These worker bees won't be running. The task's too big to risk on cowards or flight risks." Crowley shoves a shotgun into Jo's hands. He runs a quick glance over her. "Moose give you that knife again?"

Jo turns slightly to show the demon-killing knife strapped to her thigh. Ellen remarks, "Any idea how to make more of those?"

Crowley shoots her a suspicious stare. "I think the plan's that you won't be needing one in the near future."

"Lucifer's getting locked up, not demons worldwide," the hunter say. She arches an eyebrow at Crowley. "You worried I might get poor eyesight and stab you on accident?"

"Oh, I imagine it'd be purposeful," Crowley drawls. He turns towards the warehouse across the parking lot and starts off for one of the side doors.

Jo shakes her head,but can't resist the smile tugging at her lips. She appreciates the odd bantering that crops up between her mom and the demon. They get along better than Dean and Crowley, that's for sure. She attaches a pouch of spare ammo to her belt and runs a final check to make sure anything she might need is easily accessible.

"Keep your head in there," Ellen says as she shuts the back. It's a common refrain Jo's always heard while hunting with her mom. As annoying as it is on the surface, seemingly underestimating her abilities, Jo accepts the underlying message — the unspoken _"Don't let me lose you in there."_

"Head in the game, got it. You too, Mom. Try not to shoot the demon on our side, huh?" Ellen smirks, a silent tease that does make Jo wonder for a moment if she ought to keep an eye out for a shot gone awry. Crowley can help himself, though; she remembers how the holes Dean put in him at their first meeting vanished quickly.

They reach the building as Rufus comes around the corner with a large container of salt, mostly emptied. He nods at the two women. "Got covered what I could. They're real intent in there, hardly had to sneak," he says quietly. "More than demons, though. Counted at least three vampires, could be some other shit."

Crowley sidles up next to the door and carefully opens it a crack. Jo isn't sure what he's able to see through the small space and awkward angle, but apparently it's something; he scowls and withdraws the Colt from his jacket. He darts a glance to Jo. "Use that knife, love, we'll be needing as many immediate kills as possible."

Ellen rolls her eyes and nudges Crowley's shoulder with the end of her shotgun, which he eyes warily. "What, you're counting us out?"

"No," Crowley draws out the vowel, looking irritated, "but you've got stopping measures against demons, not permanent solutions."

Rufus shoves Crowley aside to get at the door. "Whatever, Monty Python. We'll focus on the vamps and whatever the hell else Satan recruited." With that, he strides through the door.

"Guess we're going," Ellen remarks as she pushes after.

The demon exchanges an exasperated look with Jo. "Keep your focus, watch for escapees." Jo enters first, disrupting the line of salt. She's re-sealing the line when they hear the first cries of anger and shotgun blasts. Crowley warns, "If it looks bad for them, some'll likely make a run with the goods."

"Got it. Watch your back!" Jo charges into the gathering trio of demons around Rufus and jumps on one's back before stabbing it through the throat.

 

\- - -

 

Sam and Dean let the demons manhandle them to the top floor of the renovated warehouse building. Sam can feel the thrum of power flowing beneath his skin thanks to the abundance of demon blood he's consumed. His heart hammers against his chest, heavy enough that Sam spares a fleeting wonder to why he isn't gasping for breath. 

There is no fanfare when they arrive at their destination. The demons shove them into a room with bare office furniture and the lights off. At the far window, Lucifer stands tracing patterns onto frosted glass. Sam licks his lips in nervous habit and catches traces of demon blood lingering there. His gaze settles on Lucifer. He feels a sense of decay surrounding the Devil. It isn't like a demon; Sam can easily pick out the demons and their essences in the room. This is something different, and Sam wonders if he is catching a glimpse of Lucifer's corrupted grace.

Lucifer takes his time to address them. When he does, he remains attentive to his window drawings, now turning cartoonish with a pitchfork. "Sorry about the temperature. You know, it's Hell that's hot — fire and brimstone? Me?" Lucifer turns with a humorless smile. His vessel's face is covered in blisters and peeling skin. "I run cold. You know that old saying, when Hell freezes over?" He waves a hand at himself. "Could do it. It would cause quite the shock."

Neither Dean nor Sam responds.

Lucifer sighs. "Alright, I can't imagine this is a social call. What'll it be, boys?" He crosses his arms and leans against the wall next to the window. "Elevator pitch, please, we don't need to draw this out."

"I'm here to consent."

Lucifer arches his eyebrow at Sam. "Really? What happened to that can-do stubborn spirit? I think even I've lost track of how many no's you've given me. That's quite the feat."

Sam raises his chin, playing up his worries and posturing more than he usually would. "We talked and don't like the odds if this keeps going. So... here I am." He swallows hard and spreads his arms to the side. "This is me, ready to deal."

"Oh Sam. _Sammy..._ " Lucifer chuckles and gives him a pitying look. "I warned you about the timing. Deals are past due, honeybunch."

"Come on, what's a few spare souls to you?" Sam prods.

Lucifer's smile is sharp. "Alright, I'll bite. What's this dream deal of yours?"

"My family, safe."

Lucifer holds up a hand. " _Ah!_ Might want to be specific, not sure we can be all-inclusive here."

Sam licks his lips again. "Bobby, Jo, Ellen, Castiel, De—"

"Sam." Lucifer shakes his head and stands upright. "You're making quite the list. And including one of my brothers, _really?_ " He scoffs. "We already talked about Dean."

"I think that issue's been fixed," Sam says, voice steady despite the spear of cold he feels when thinking of Adam's fate.

With a tilt of his head, Lucifer seems to consider that. He hums. "True. Okay, perhaps Dean can stay. But let's see, that's five. Great number. Hope you got everyone you need." He flashes his teeth in a grin when Sam opens his mouth to continue. "Pressing your luck, Sam, best stop now."

Sam clenches his jaw. He can sense that Lucifer is just toying with him. He isn't sure to what extent, or if there is anything he can trust.

"We agree?" Dean finally speaks up, voice tight.

Lucifer's gaze darts to Dean. "I don't think you're doing the bargaining anymore, Deano. But that's what led us down this path so, you know, _sure._ We'll count these past few precious years on your ball of mud as a deal paid." His attention returns to Sam. "But really, Sammy. Let's stop pretending." The archangel turns his gaze to the demons still at the Winchester's back. When he slides a sly look back to the brothers, Sam gets the point. Even though he doesn't care to follow the Devil's lead, Sam has had enough of the corrupted souls at his back.

With little more than a thought, he reaches out and smothers the demons behind him. He hears the bodies drop. "Hmm, started your day off right," Lucifer observes. "What are they putting in Wheaties these days?"

"Do we have a deal or not?" Sam demands.

Lucifer rolls his eyes dramatically, reminding Sam momentarily of Crowley, which is an unsettling thought. "Please, let's do away with pretense before we end our lovely negotiation." His gaze is sharp and knowing as his expression settles into something hard. "I know you have the rings."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sam bluffs.

" _Really?_ " Lucifer makes what Dean would call a bitch-face. "Four little keys, say some magical words and whoosh! Top pops open to Father's little time-out corner." He arches an eyebrow at the hunters. "Ring a bell?"

Dean's hand lands on Sam's arm, fingers tightening when he doesn't look away from the Devil. Quietly, though Sam imagines he can't hide anything from the archangel now that they are face-to-face, he tells Dean, "It doesn't matter."

"Of course it does," Dean hisses back.

Lucifer's expression eases into amusement, and he walks forward. Despite every instinct screaming for Sam to step back, he stands firmly in place. "Oh don't get me wrong, boys, it's an interesting experiment. I like it. A pre-bout warm-up." The archangel stops close enough that Sam can see his own breath appear in the air between them. "So here's how I see our deal going. We knock around in your noggin. You win, you get to jump in. I win, well, I have some things to take care of. No tricks, no stand-ins, no take-backs." He grins. "Just _you and me,_ Sammy. No more friends dying to save you."

Sam isn't sure how he manages to hold Lucifer's cold stare. There is a powerful aura around him, nearly overwhelming, and despite his clearly deteriorating vessel, there is something unwaveringly beautiful about him. It's the end of the line. Sam's answer is already a foregone conclusion, but he still hesitates.

Lucifer leans in just a little closer, whispering, "What do you say? _Fiddle of gold against your soul says I'm better than you._ "

With Dean's hand clutching his arm, Sam stares unblinkingly back at the Devil. "Yes."

"And that's that."

The room shakes, and Sam closes his eyes instinctively against the light that blooms into existence. His ears and mind echo with an otherworldly song — voice? — he can't quite understand, but knows he could if he pays attention. He loses track of his heartbeat and the cold that had surrounded him only moments ago. 

Abruptly he feels like he's drowning, trapped like years ago beneath the ice, frantically clawing for the hole to let him out. And just like back then, the world beyond the ice is unclear, full of barely-there shapes and colored blurs.

But unlike the sound of blood rushing through his ears or the whoosh of water surrounding him, Sam hears laughter. 

_He's failed._

 

\- - -

 

Jo helps Rufus haul bodies into the center of the warehouse. Already covered in blood and gore, she doesn't bother to side-step puddles of blood. Her mom and Crowley are busy setting up explosives in key places. Jo had opened her mouth to ask the demon where he'd gotten the supplies, then realized it was pretty innocuous compared to some of the spell ingredients she's seen him collect. Rufus had just looked at the bombs approvingly.

"One more by the truck," Rufus says, pointing Jo in the right direction. "I'm gonna take a look at those files in the office."

Jo nods wearily. She rolls her shoulders, stretching a little, before heading for the last body. Crowley had ordered that all the bodies be gathered in the center.

"Need a hand?" Ellen grabs the headless top half of the vampire Jo has just started to drag. Between the two of them, they manage to move the body quickly. Crowley spares them a brief glance as they add to the pile before he returns to examining the shelves around them.

"Are we set?" Jo asks, resisting the urge to scrub at her itchy forehead; she assumes that it's drying blood and knows that her stained sleeve will do nothing to help.

"Just about," the demon replies.

"How're we blowing this thing?" Jo is asking her mom as much as Crowley, guessing that he informed her about his plans.

Crowley smirks as he raises one hand and wiggles his fingers. "I assure you, this is a safer plan than a detonator."

Jo eyes his hand warily. "Just don't snap too early. You're more resilient than us."

"Please. You reek human, I couldn't forget." Crowley nods at the loading bay doors. "We best be going. Where's your friend?"

"Grabbing papers or something from the office." Jo moves to the end of one of the shelves and looks around it. "Hey, Rufus! We've gotta blow this popsicle stand!" He yells back an affirmative. She turns in time to see Crowley's grimace of distaste. "What?"

"So cliché," the demon complains.

"Yeah, whatever. Let's go. I keep feeling like civilians are gonna show up and complicate things." Jo doesn't resist her impulse to sling an arm around Crowley's shoulders and steer him to the exit. Ellen arches a surprised eyebrow at her, but doesn't comment as she turns to walk in front of them. Crowley stops abruptly after a few steps, which forces Jo to stop as well. Instead of letting go, she turns to look at him and lifts her chin in silent challenge. The demon narrows his eyes at her.

They exit the building together silently, Crowley leading just slightly as they take the steps down from the loading bay. Once outside, Jo lets the demon go and turns to make sure that Rufus is following. The older hunter appears a minute later, a file box in hand. "Grabbed what I could. Might be junk, but worth a shot," he says.

As they head for the cars, he asks, "What's next on the agenda?"

Ellen replies, "Don't actually know."

Jo bites her lip. While taking out the creatures charged with distributing the virus, she had a distraction. She hadn't let herself think about the others in Detroit or consider what Sam is doing — what he may have already done.

"Well, I'm guessing there's a nest in town given the bloodsuckers back there," Rufus says. "You want to join?"

Ellen's gaze trails to Jo. "Think you can handle it yourself?"

"Of course," Rufus scoffs.

"Of course," Ellen mimics. "Take care of yourself, you old bastard."

"You too, ladies." He splits off to toss the box in the back of his pickup.

Crowley speaks up. "Is this far enough for your delicate mortal shells or shall I wait?"

Ellen rounds the truck to open up the driver's side. "Wouldn't mind you waiting 'til we're actually on the road."

"Agreed," Jo says as she pulls open her door. Crowley's phone ringing makes her freeze in place. Fingers clenching the door handle for support, Jo turns to stare at the demon, wide-eyed. His expression shutters as he meets her gaze.

The demon turns away slightly when he accepts the call. "Update?"

Crowley is silent, expression carefully blank. Except, when Jo looks more intently, she can see the start of a worried furrow between his eyebrows.

"Right."

The demon drops the phone from his ear with a curse. Jo feels like her heart is in her throat, and the ground feels unsteady. "What happened?" she whispers.

Crowley darts a brief glance at her. He shakes his head. "Thing's gone tits-up. Stay put."

"What— _Don't!_ " Her shout comes too late — he's already gone.

 

\- - -

 

"What the _hell_ is happening?" Jo shouts. She doesn't get a response, and it makes her want to scream in frustration. Her mom has stopped trying to get her into the car. Neither of them feels comfortable just leaving a warehouse full of dead bodies, crates of a virus straight from a zombie film, and explosives sitting around. Jo isn't sure how long Crowley has been gone, but every second is an agonizing wait when they know something has gone wrong in Detroit.

"Jo, we need to start thinking of some alternatives to dealing with this," Ellen interrupts Jo's next round of pacing around the truck. "We can't just sit here."

"Mom, I can't..." She cuts herself off and comes to an abrupt halt. She presses the heels of her hands against her closed eyes. She tries to think, not even knowing where to start. She knows their part of things is important and that they haven't finished yet, but her mind is consumed with questions about the others — about Sam and what it means that Crowley took off and hasn't returned. "I—"

Her phone rings and Jo reaches for it so fast that she nearly drops it as she yanks it from her pocket. "What happened?" She doesn't care who's calling, her question would be the same.

"Hello to you too," Crowley says. Before she can yell at him, he continues, "Change of plans."

"To _what?_ " 

Ellen snaps her fingers in front of Jo's face, startling the blonde. Scowling at her mom, Jo switches the phone to speaker and holds it out.

"Absence of a plan," he responds dryly. "Look, Squirrel is either having a hissy fit or is breaking down — can't tell at the moment. He drove off alone, supposed to be back in ten minutes. We'll see."

Jo feels faint and must waver on her feet because Ellen's arm wraps around her shoulders. "What happened?" she whispers the question.

Crowley sighs wearily, and the lack of exasperation usually accompanying the sound makes something in her chest tighten. "The Devil took off with his suit and the rings."

"Where are you now?" Ellen asks.

This time, Crowley sounds irritated. "Apparently the littlest angel's decided that breaking into a bar is the appropriate course of action."

"What?" Ellen's voice comes out flat, reflecting Jo's own train of thought.

"No one has a plan."

Jo clenches her hands into fists and snaps, "Get back here. Fuck 'em if they're giving up. _We'll_ figure something out."

When Crowley responds, he does so in person. He appears in front of the Harvelles as he's hanging up the phone. Jo stares at him and takes in his drawn expression. His irises show more red than normal.

"Let's hear it, love."

Jo swallows hard. Ellen squeezes her shoulder, silently supportive. While Jo searches for something to say, her mom points out the warehouse. "Best light that up and get out of here. Load in," she directs. She nudges Jo towards the backseat and Jo gets in without really thinking about it. It only occurs to her what her mom's done when she finds herself sitting next to Crowley. 

Ellen steers out of the parking lot, and only a few dozen feet down the road, Crowley snaps his fingers. The warehouse explodes with a resounding boom.

"Where to?" Ellen asks. A number of vehicles have pulled off to the side or even stopped in the roadway as people try to find the source of the noise. She navigates the obstacles smoothly, looking surprisingly calm.

Crowley leans his head back and closes his eyes in an unusual human gesture of exhaustion. "Singer's, maybe. For lack of a real destination."

"Where will he go?" Jo asks. She stares at her lap, where she's picking at the drying blood on her cuffs.

"You're _not_ facing him," Crowley tells her firmly.

"We have to end this," she counters quietly. "Sam tried to do it alone, now we need to do this. Together."

Ellen shakes her head. "What do you expect to do, walk up to the Devil himself? We mean _nothing_ to him, he won't even hesitate if we show up — even if we knew where he'd be."

"You're staying out of this fight," Crowley states. There's an extra edge to the statement that makes Jo look over at him with a frown. Crowley stares back at her with faintly glowing eyes.

"Since when do you get to make my decisions for me?"

"I'm with him, Jo," her mom interrupts. "I want to help, but I sure as shit ain't letting you walk into the middle of an archangel brawl. If we can help figure out a plan, do something outside of the blast radius—"

"If we get to the 'blast' point, there's nowhere on Earth that's clear!" Jo argues. She turns to Crowley with an accusing glare. "You made a deal with Sam!"

"I didn't." He glowers at her. Jo scoffs, disbelieving. The demon lips thin for a moment. "He _wanted_ to. But I didn't."

Ellen spares a glance over her shoulder, expression bewildered. "Why not?"

Crowley turns his gaze out the windshield and sits back with a long sigh. His expression is shuttered, but there's a hint of pain in the way he frowns. Eventually, just as Jo's about to snap at him, he answers. "He didn't need to, Mother Bear."

Jo makes herself focus in order to process what that means. Her heart aches with the confirmation that she's been right, that _Sam_ was right — demons have the ability to care. Crowley may have sworn this entire time that he's about self preservation, but there's also something more.

"Thank you," Ellen says. Crowley's gaze flickers to her then back out the window.

Jo doesn't have anything to say for now. It's no use arguing until they have a plan to move forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The trapped under ice analogy cropped up without me really thinking about it at first. Then I realized I created a reference about Sam falling through thin ice back in the jaunt through Heaven and had to laugh at myself.
> 
> [Latest edit: July 21, 2018]


	17. these, our bodies, possessed by light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue adapted from "Swan Song"

Sam rises to the surface of the ice in the middle of an angry scream. His voice echoes strangely, and it takes a moment for him to realize that he's made the sound with his physical body.

After a moment of silence, Lucifer responds, "Wow. How long has _that_ been building?" Sam hardly notices the words, preoccupied by the disturbing fact that Lucifer is responding through Sam's body as well. "Oh? Did you think you'd broken through?" Lucifer chuckles, and Sam can feel his lips spread into a grin. Lucifer raises _their_ hand, lazily curling the fingers into a fist and then spreading them wide. "Nope, I'm driving, kid. Feel free to speak up for now. We have a little time."

"I'm going to tear you apart from the inside out," Sam growls, anger flooding through him in a hot wave.

Lucifer pouts. "Oh don't be sour, Sammy. Just need a little time to stretch my wings and unwind before the big fight. You get that, right? Plus, the anticipation is sweet. Shaking things up all over the world, keep everyone on edge."

"I won't let you win this."

"Hmm. Seems a little late for talk like that," Lucifer notes. "You and me, we get a little quality time together right now. And this time? There's no waking up."

No Jo to call him away from nightmares or to offer a comforting touch. No Crowley to bitch at him about being a noisy sleeper. No Dean to shake him awake.

"Don't try to deny this connection, Sam. I'm right _here_ now: mind, body... soul. It's time to face facts. No more burying the truth or hiding behind this ridiculous mane of hair." 

Lucifer slowly paces around the dim room. Sam can only assume it's a basement somewhere, given the lack of windows and the bare concrete walls and floor. At one end of the room, a handful of people stand in a circle, eerily still as if frozen in place. There are sigils marked on the floor beneath their feet that Sam can't make out. Lucifer barely glances in their direction before turning to the only piece of furniture. A full-length mirror in a freestanding wooden frame stands alone, tilted up slightly. Lucifer draws close enough to stare at Sam's face. Their lips move as he continues his train of thought.

"You've always known you were different — from other _people_ , from you family, from Yellow Eyes' 'special children.' No one else like you, Sam. You and me, made for each other." Lucifer leers at the mirror, and although Sam isn't in control of his body, he feels sick. "We were _always_ meant to be. You knew, didn't you? Your only family is me. John, Dean, Mary — at best they offered you foster care. It's why you ran away, right? What you didn't know was that you were running _to_ me."

"Screw you," Sam hisses, the face in the mirror momentarily contorting to reflect his rage.

Lucifer smooths their features into amusement. "Oh come on, you can't tell me it doesn't appeal to the romantic I know you are. Long lost lovers, separated by great strife and seemingly impossible trials! But just look at everything you've done. We've made it, and here we are."

"This isn't a love story," Sam spits.

"You have such a limited view of things. I'll fix that, help you understand. There is so very much I want to show you, Sam."

"I don't want _anything_ from you!"

Lucifer's smile at the mirror holds a cruel edge of amusement, darker than anything Sam thinks he's ever seen on his face. "Nothing? Not even a little payback?"

"What are you—" Sam cuts himself off as Lucifer turns and focuses their attention on the silent circle of people. It only takes a moment for Sam to recognize one of the high school counselors he'd been cajoled into seeing.

"You've been watched for a _very_ long time." Lucifer walks confidently towards the group. "I'm sorry your pal Brady couldn't join us. Turns out your demonic halfbreed whisked him off his feet." He responds to Sam's shock; "Oh yes, Sam. You were set up by Azazel. Your little matchmaking friend was a plant. I did so want to offer you the opportunity to rip the little bastard apart for what he did to Jessica, but as I said, your buddy interfered."

Sam can't seem to move past the shock of Brady. He had known back in college that something big happened — his best friend returned from vacation with a major personality shift — but he seemed to get better as Sam offered support. Brady helped him connect with Jess. But he—

"I'm sorry, Sam," Lucifer says it gently, as if he genuinely regrets what happened. "But take my advice, turn that pain to anger and... enjoy a little revenge."

 

\- - -

 

Ellen is picking up something to eat from the gas station while Jo takes care of the pump. The door to the backseat is slightly open, where Crowley is surprisingly still sitting. They're several hours out from Amarillo now, headed vaguely north towards Bobby's even though they don't really have a true heading. She startles a little when Crowley's cell rings.

"What is it?" the demon demands as soon as he picks up. He narrows his eyes at whatever the reply is. "And how'd you get that tidbit of information?" His eyebrow arches in what looks like surprise. "Huh. There is a brain in Squirrel's head after all. So what do you expect _me_ to do about this?"

Jo steps away from the gas tank and leans into the backseat. "Speaker," she says. Crowley tilts his head to send her a glare. He doesn't follow her demand. "Crowley!"

The demon holds up a hand and turns away. "Yes, _that_ sounds brilliant. Remember, demon? The lowest of angels can easily smite me with little thought. Two fucking archangels won't even have to blink!"

"Crowley!" Jo shouts again, reaching in to grab his shoulder. He doesn't turn even as she jostles him. " _What's going on?_ "

"They've just crossed over the state line. No, I don't think it's a good idea." The demon chuckles, low and dark, an element of bitterness to it. "Bugger all. Fine, what the hell else is there to do?" He waits a few moments before hanging up.

"What did they figure out?" Jo yanks at the demon's shoulder, and this time he turns. Crowley's expression is shuttered, but there is something like resignation in the lines around his eyes. She breathes out in surprise, "They figured out where it's happening?"

"And you're not going, love," he tells her firmly.

" _The hell_ you get to make that choice for me!" Jo snaps. She pulls herself into the backseat and grips his arms with both hands. "You're going, I know it! Take me with you. Together, we all agreed this was going to happen _together._ "

Crowley places a hand against her shoulder but doesn't shove her away. "Stay with your mum, love. Not anything you can do there."

"And _what,_ someone else has a better chance? Dean can't be going alone if you got a call. Bobby, Castiel? And now you? You have _no right_ to keep me away!"

"Sorry, love." The apology is almost gentle with a sincerity that Crowley usually masks under sarcasm and irritation.

Jo clenches her fingers tightly, digging in her hold on him. "I'm not letting you go without me."

Crowley gives her a patented _you're still a dumb human_ look. "You can't hold me," he warns.

The driver's side door opens, and Ellen leans in. "What's going on?"

"Take care of yourself, ey?" Crowley pats Jo's shoulder. "Gotta go see an angel about a moose." With that, Crowley vanishes from Jo's hold, and she falls face-first towards the window. She just manages to catch herself on her hands. She curses long and loud.

"Jo... honey..." Ellen's words are quiet and deliberately careful. 

Jo punches the seat beneath her and bites back a sob of anger. She feels her mother's touch on her back. The blonde lets herself be pulled into an awkward hug but is unable to relax into her mother's embrace.

 

\- - -

 

Lucifer shoves Sam under the ice again when he lands in a bare little cemetery. Sam has no control, no voice, but Lucifer allows him near enough to the surface to hear.

"Know where we are, Sam? Your hometown. Your birthplace. Fitting, isn't it?" Lucifer glances down at their blood-encrusted clothes and with a blink, cleans the cloth. "Might as well freshen up. No reason to look like a mongrel when my brother arrives."

 _Let me out!_ Sam claws at the ice barrier and shifts to kick up at it. He can almost see clearly; he can make out the gravestones and the trees surrounding the open area. There is still time, _just a little time_ , to grab the rings from their pocket and dive in. He can't let it end like this.

"Sammy, shh, you're just going to hurt yourself," Lucifer soothes. "Deep breaths." He follows the words with action, inhaling deeply though Sam cannot feel more than a muted sensation of it. "It's almost over. And your brother still lives! It's the least I could do now that we've agreed and Michael found an alternative. It's what you always wanted, right? Dean to be safe."

_All Winchesters do is sacrifice for each other. One life for the other's, again and again. It put us on this doomed spiral._

"Feel that, Sam?" Lucifer shoves Sam further under the surface, barrier thickening in his wake. Lucifer's voice is muffled when he says, "It is time."

Sam scrabbles beneath the ice, scratching more frantically at the slippery surface. He hears the cadence of voices but can't make out the words. There are undefined shapes moving beyond the ice, and when he recognizes bodies — more than one person, there are others besides Michael who came — he focuses some attention on trying to figure out what's happening. 

He thinks he can pick out Michael, associating Adam's face to the lanky figure with blond hair. Beyond him, Sam is surprised to pick out Castiel's telltale overcoat. There's a shout, then Michael lights up with what looks like fire and disappears. Sam is stunned. Lucifer growls something, elements of his true voice reaching Sam. _"How dare you!"_ Castiel's figure bursts apart.

_Cas!_

It takes him a few moments to overcome his shock enough to realize Lucifer is holding a figure against a long, low shape. Too familiar — the Impala. _No..._ Sam moans to himself and pounds on the ice. _Dean! I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry!_

Something has Lucifer turning around, but Sam isn't sure who the figures are behind them at first. It's as the one figure's head jerks violently to the side before falling that Sam recognizes the trucker cap. _Of course_ these idiots would come after him, try one last Hail Mary. And Sam is letting them down; he can't save them.

Lucifer is speaking, some of his intent floating to Sam with his true voice that cannot be contained by the thick ice. _"Tainted, traitorous halfbreed— Forget yourself— Trying to take what's mine— Don't even need my blade—"_ Lucifer raises their hand at the remaining figure dressed all in black. The body wavers and is suddenly engulfed in a bright light Sam recognizes as grace. At the heart of the light, shades of red contract into a knot before stretching out in a tangle of tendrils. Just as the light is fading, Sam thinks he sees the outlines of giant wings.

The body drops, empty. Sam only gets a moment more to look at the lump of black and feels a sense of numbness instead of shock as he acknowledges, _Crowley?_

Lucifer turns back to the Impala and grabs Dean. The ice begins to thin, bringing Sam closer to the surface, still unable to do something, but suddenly able to _feel_ and _see_ and _hear_ everything with far too much clarity. Their fist slams into his brother's face, inhumanly strong, but he knows that Lucifer is still holding back. They break Dean's jaw. They slam a fist into his gut, rupture a kidney.

Sam is screaming, beyond fear or anger. His is consumed with horror as his brother breaks beneath his hands. Through it all, Dean scrabbles to hold onto Sam's body as he slurs reassurances. "I'm here, Sammy. Not gonna leave you, little brother." Sam throws himself against the ice, slamming against it with everything he is. He _cannot_ have his brother's death on his hands. It was never supposed to be like this.

"It's _okay._ "

And like it had happened so many years ago, Sam is yanked to the surface by his brother. Unlike then, the sky is bright with daylight. Sam gasps in a breath, shaking as he truly feels the air fill his lungs. He lowers his arm, uncurls his fingers. As much as he wants to embrace Dean, tend to the wounds and deep bruises covering his brother's body, Sam makes himself step back. He blinks back tears as he lets go and watches Dean slide down the side of the Impala. It takes a while for Dean to realize the man in front of him is different.

Green irises peek out from behind swollen eyelids as Dean stares up at Sam, a stunned expression falling into place. " _Sammy?_ " he somehow manages to say through his broken jaw.

"It's okay, Dean." Sam fumbles with clumsy fingers to find the Horsemen's rings in his pocket. He can't look away from his brother as he pulls the interlocked keys free. "I-I've got this." But not for long. He's no longer beneath the ice, but he is standing on it, and Lucifer is far too strong to be contained. It won't take long for the archangel to break through and drag Sam back under.

He forces himself to turn away as he throws the key to the ground and invokes the opening words. The ground starts to sink, then seems to pull back into a gaping, fathomless hole. Sam's hair flies in front of his face, the pit sucking at the air around him. He takes a shaky step forward, nearing the edge.

"Sammy!"

He has never been able to resist that plea. Sam turns his head to look at Dean and offers a shaky smile. "It's okay." He turns away from the pain on his brother's face and steps right to the edge.

A voice behind him demands, "Step away from the edge, Sam!"

Sam does not turn to face Michael as he replies, "You'll have to make me."

"This is our _Destiny,_ Sam, and I will not allow you—"

When Sam feels Michael grab his shoulder, he finally turns and grasps onto the angel's arm. He sees the shock in the archangel's eyes just before he pushes off the edge and yanks Michael with him.

Michael's and Lucifer's screams of anger fill his ears along with the howl of the pit pulling them in. 

Sam leaps into the Cage and plunges through the ice.

 

\- - -

 

Jo sits on the steps of Bobby's porch with an empty beer bottle at her side and her phone in her hand. She stares off into the distance as she listens to Dean's voice-mail greeting. Again. She hangs up, goes to the next number, and lets it try going through. Bobby's gruff greeting leaves her hanging up the phone. She calls Crowley. He has no greeting, but she still hears the beep to leave a message.

She's been repeating the action off and on in the hours since Crowley up and left them. Ellen managed to get her to lie down for a while during the night, but Jo barely slept. As soon as the nightmares jerked her awake for the third time, she'd started calling again. She knows they were probably ignoring her for a while. Now, as it nears two o'clock in the afternoon, she wonders if that excuse is still valid.

Jo swallows hard as she lets the phone drop into her lap. Inside the house she can faintly hear the noise of the television. Her mom turned on the news early this morning as they wait for a sign. Jo has been outside for over an hour, but if Ellen hasn't come to get her, she guesses nothing has changed.

She closes her eyes and leans forward, elbows on her knees. Jo isn't sure what they're supposed to do now. With no one picking up their phone... She isn't going to shy away from what the likely truth is. If they are all dead, everyone gone, what is she supposed to do? Ultimately, what can she and her mom do?

"Chin up."

Jo startles, jolting upright and opening her eyes to stare at the demon standing in the yard. Crowley's expression is tense, she might even say unsettled. His hands are in his pockets as he stands there, looking her over as if she may have gotten hurt.

"You—" Jo jumps to her feet and runs forward. "You _bastard!_ " she chokes out, relief and anger tightening her chest. She punches his arm. "What _happened?_ "

Crowley shifts away from her a little, uncomfortable expression becoming more obvious for a moment. "It's over, love," he says. He meets her gaze, letting her search for the truth of that statement. "The Devil's gone."

Jo bites her lips to keep it from trembling. She knows her expression is pleading, begging for news that will be impossible.

The demon's features soften, and he pulls a hand out of his pocket. His touch is light against her cheek. "Moose, too." He lets her lean against his fingertips as Jo closes her eyes and takes stuttering breaths. "The Devil and Michael are in the Cage. The others..." Jo opens her eyes and sees Crowley's eyes narrow in thought. He doesn't seem to be looking at her anymore despite the direction of his gaze. "They're making a miraculous recovery."

"They're alive? Dean? Bobby? Castiel?" She feels a wash of relief and shock when the demon nods. "How?" she whispers, unable to imagine that everyone could make it through unscathed. She pulls away from Crowley's hand to look him over. He looks perfectly fine, and while that may be normal for other situations, it seems impossible if he really was at the confrontation.

Crowley slides his hands back into his pockets. "Don't quite know. Not ready to look that gift horse in the mouth."

"Okay." Jo drags a hand over her face, wiping at her stinging eyes surreptitiously. "And they're...?"

"Probably on their way back," he answers. "Taking some time to let it sink in." His gaze goes past her shoulder, and Jo can hear the door to the house open and shut.

"So that's it?" Jo asks quietly, unsure what to say.

Ellen calls, "Is it—?"

"Over, Mother Bear." Crowley gives her a respectful nod. His attention returns to Jo. "That's that."

Jo feels herself tense. "What's that supposed to mean? You're just going to walk away?"

"Always the plan, love," he reminds her, something hard entering his eyes.

"Plans change," she counters. "You're telling me that after... after _everything_ that's happened, you're just going to-to _walk away?_ "

"I'm a _demon!_ " he shouts, and for a moment Jo thinks she sees something like fear flash across his expression when he emphasizes the word. Through a sneer, he says, "And now that the competition's clear, it's time for me to claim my throne."

"You—" Crowley disappears before Jo finishes the accusation "— _coward!_ "

Her mom's hand gently lands on her back. Silently, Ellen rubs her hand in small comforting circles.

It takes a while for Jo to feel like her voice is steady enough to speak. "He said they're in there — Lucifer, Michael... _Sam._ " She swallows hard and shakes her head. "Supposedly Dean, Bobby, and Castiel are okay."

"What on earth happened?" Ellen mutters. Jo shrugs, suddenly exhausted. "Come on, honey. Let's get back inside."

Jo doesn't move at first, still staring at the bit of ground where Crowley stood. Eventually, she lets her mom steer her towards the house where they'll wait for the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... sorry?
> 
> [Most recent edit: July 21, 2018]


	18. Epilogue: i take the parts that i remember and stitch them back together

Armageddon has been averted. They're alive. It should be a time to celebrate.

Instead, Jo acknowledges Bobby's and Dean's return with silent embraces before secluding herself upstairs. She wraps a quilt around her as she curls up on the bed she last shared with Sam, and she stares out the window. It's quiet downstairs, only a brief murmur of voices early on. She knows they're all mourning and trying to let reality sink in. She tries not to think of Sam standing at the mouth of the Cage, facing the unknown alone; but she remembers his panicked gasps and glassy eyes when he jolted awake from nightmares and Lucifer's dream-walking. She can't forget the expression of stunned relief and gratefulness that had been on his face whenever she argued to stay with him rather than return to her mom. She remembers the first time he laughed at one of Crowley's sarcastic jibes, and how surprised both of them had looked. She wonders about that flash of discomfort and fear Crowley hadn't been able to hide before he left.

The four hunters tiptoe around the house, barely speaking, for the next few days. Dean mostly vanishes into the junkyard, carrying bottles of liquor as he leaves the house. Bobby seems to be cleaning up, shelving or stacking books. Ellen keeps to herself, occasionally making rounds to look in on everyone before sitting in Bobby's study and browsing the computer.

On day three, Bobby and Ellen corral everyone into the kitchen for a full breakfast. Jo recognizes the stubborn set of her mom's jaw and doesn't even attempt to escape. Dean tries to slip out, but Bobby shoves him firmly into a chair and doesn't let go until Dean slumps into his seat. As if to reward him, Bobby offers a mug of doctored coffee.

"What?" Dean grunts once he's taken a few sips.

Bobby puts a plate of food down in front of the younger man. "Eat up. Even I know liquor don't do well in an empty stomach." Ellen gives Jo a telling look, so the blonde takes her offered plate without argument. She's finally feeling hungry, anyway.

"It's time to start making plans," Ellen says, and Jo thinks she's deliberately avoiding the words "move on." Ellen pours some orange juice for everyone, even though Dean looks at his glass askance. "Supernatural activity's died down a bit compared to what it's been, but there's still signs out there for hunts. If you're up to it, Jo, I'd like to head out tomorrow."

Jo takes her time replying, using her mouthful of eggs and toast as an excuse to delay. She admits that she doesn't feel strongly either way, which probably means she needs the focus a hunt would offer. "Yeah, I can do that."

Bobby is the one to address Dean. "Not sure what you're considering, son, but if you'd like, you've got a place to crash here. Work here to be done or some other hunts on the road. Rufus called looking for some help, even."

Dean's jaw clenches visibly as he looks away.

"Don't do something foolish," Ellen tells him with a tight frown.

"Like what?" Dean should know better than to take that petulant tone.

"Gee, like trying another Crossroads deal?" Bobby retorts. "I ain't stupid. I'd like to think you've gotten your head sorted, too. Don't go making Sam's sacrifice meaningless."

"He shouldn't 've had to do it!" Dean yells. Jo closes her eyes. Her fork digs into her palm as her fingers clench. "He doesn't deserve this!"

"I know!" the older hunter snaps. "I hate it much as you. But I told your brother I'd look out for you. I swore not to let you pull a stupid stunt like I _know_ you're entertaining."

Dean's hand lands on Jo's arm, startling her into opening her eyes. His expression is a mess of anger and desperation. "Crowley, he's got more—"

"No." Jo's voice is amazingly steady despite the rapid beating of her heart. She meets Dean's stunned, betrayed gaze without flinching. "I won't do that to him."

"Who?" Dean demands harshly, eyes narrowing. "Sam or your demon?"

"Neither of them," she answers. She swallows hard and shakes off his hand. "I... I _hate_ it." She turns her gaze to her tightly clenched fists and can see the faint trembling of her hands. "You should understand _how much_ I hate it. But the only thing Sam ever asked..." She breathes in deeply and despite all odds, finds her lips twitch into a tiny, sad smile. "Was to _trust_ him." She looks up at Dean. "I won't betray that."

Dean's expression shutters, but he stays at the table. They all pick at their breakfast in silence.

Eventually, after all the coffee is drained and it's obvious no one is going to try eating anything else, Dean lifts his chin and focuses on Bobby. "What's Rufus want?"

 

\- - -

 

Crowley is no fool and has never been fond of self-delusions. He knows what brought him back. The question of _why_ is far more complicated.

Singer, the elder Winchester, the little rebellious angel-that-could — they make sense, in a way. But Crowley does not fit into the equation, especially when the Moose is left out.

There are too many questions without answers. Crowley doesn't even know where to start looking for them. God certainly isn't stepping up to face an inquiry, which means Crowley is left to sort things out himself. This usually isn't a problem. He's good at puzzles, and he likes to collect information. However, this time it means examining himself, and that happens to be intimidating; especially now that he has become aware of something within him that is _definitely not demon._ He wonders if it is something new, something slipped in when God did His thing, but a quiet voice in his mind tells Crowley it's always been there. Perhaps God has awakened it, but it isn't a new addition.

"Damn you, bastard," Crowley growls as he stares across the frozen expanse in front of him.

He has a job to do, the reason he bit back his pride and colluded with humans in the first place. He shuts away thoughts of strangely charismatic hunters, Godly resurrections, and the entire past week. His attention turns to Hell and the throne that is his to claim.

 

\- - -

 

Jo and Ellen leave after lunch the next day. Dean doesn't say much, just a muttered "Keep in touch" that Jo can't tell if it's sincere or not. Bobby gives her another hug and a firm pat on the back before they head out.

As they drive away, Ellen doesn't try for conversation, for which Jo is grateful. She leans her elbow on the window ledge and rests her cheek against her fist. Her mom turns on the radio, fiddling with the dial until a classic rock station comes up.

They're an hour out of Sioux Falls when Jo asks quietly, "Does it ever stop?" She doesn't turn her head from where it rests against the window.

"What's that?" her mom asks.

Jo lets the scenery blur into indistinct colors. "The... hurt." _Loss_ hangs unspoken between them.

It takes some time for her mom to answer.

"Not really," Ellen responds quietly. "You just get used to it. We re-examine all the reasons we fight and figure out the things that cause a spark."

Jo nods her acceptance, even though the words are not enough to ease the ache in her chest. 

"It's... not quick," Ellen continues a couple of minutes later. "But I'll be right here."

Jo slides her gaze to the side so that she can see her mom. Ellen keeps glancing away from the road to look at her. She must realize Jo is looking back because she lifts a hand from the steering wheel and reaches out. Jo extends her hand to slip into Ellen's comforting grasp.

 

\- - - - - - - - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I offer you a hopeful ending, and a much more outright hint regarding Crowley's origins (of this 'verse). I do have thoughts about a sequel/continuation, but I'm afraid that won't be coming anytime soon.
> 
> Thank you _so much_ for sticking with me. This has been a labor of love, and a real challenge in the face of some seriously difficult things from the past several months.
> 
> I don't like to beg for responses, but please, if you can just take a moment to drop me a line, I'd really appreciate it. It means the world to me when I hear from readers. ♥
> 
> [Most recent edit: July 21, 2018

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written in two major chunks over the course of two NaNo projects ([National Novel Writing Month](http://www.nanowrimo.org)). In November 2014, I wrote through the events of "Point of No Return" and had about 53k words during that zero draft. I spent many hours in November 2016 doing a first run of revisions through that, cutting about 4k, then finished the story. It's been a fascinating journey, given that I haven't been active in SPN fandom since around the time season seven was airing. 
> 
> I can't remember how this story really came about, especially considering I was active on the Gabriel/Sam side of fandom almost exclusively, but I believe it was a combo of things. 1) I've always been fascinated by the "What ifs?" potentials of seasons four and five. 2) I'm constantly frustrated with myself for not focusing enough on strong, female characters I love in fandom — apparently too often distracted by my frequent m/m favorite ships. 3) The Harvelles' death pisses me off. 4) The Winchester family is a nightmare of unhealthy interactions; and Dean's double-standards drove me nuts. 5) I started reading [VivatRex's Falling Skies](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1407772/chapters/2953192) and became intrigued with the idea of trying my hand at writing Crowley.
> 
> Back in November 2016, this story wrapped up at 86k words. It got down to about 83k after an edit in December. The most recent edits happened over the weekend prior posting this. (It was exhausting.) I spent a ridiculous amount of time checking my word choices via dictionaries, referring to lists of British and Scottish slang, abused the thesaurus and second-guessed myself constantly, and googled various spelling (seat belt or seatbelt??) and grammar questions. Also, due to teaching writing for a few weeks in December, I started driving myself crazy (and inconsistent) with comma usage. Commas are the bane of my existence. Also, 85% of the italics came about during the last round of editing, and I think I went overboard.


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